


Blood Fever

by Spawn_Of_Sin



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anger, Angst, Arguing, Biting, Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Chivalry, Cussing, Drinking to Cope, Drunkenness, Explicit Sexual Content, Five Year Mission, Flirting, Gore, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Insecure James T. Kirk, Jealousy, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Meditation, Minor Original Character(s), Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Near Death Experiences, Original Fiction, Partial Mind Control, Plak Tow (Star Trek), Pon Farr, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Spock (Star Trek), Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension, Suspense, Telepathic Bond, Telepathy, The Borg, Torture, Violent Thoughts, mindspace, sensual dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 54,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25555654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spawn_Of_Sin/pseuds/Spawn_Of_Sin
Summary: After reaching maturity, Vulcan males experience a mating period known as "pon farr" every seven years. All rational thought is replaced with primal instinct and pure desire. If left untreated, it could result in violence, bloodshed, and death.Spock is sure that he has everything under control, but things change when Captain Jim Kirk starts to feel a stronger connection to him. Not to mention that they're about to embark on their next five year mission. It really throws a wrench in your plans when you start to develop feelings, doesn't it?* Takes place directly after Star Trek: Beyond in terms of storyline *RUSSIAN TRANSLATION (credits to janette kirk <3) : https://ficbook.net/readfic/10350805
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 251
Kudos: 639





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> there's someone who i think might be reading this and you know who you are so please don't judge me  
> (also i tried my best to incorporate Scotty's accent let me know if it comes off as distracting rather than immersive)

Jim Kirk had almost died a few too many times since becoming the captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise, which made it all the stranger that he was unbearably eager to board his ship and warp into deep space as soon as possible. Jim had been spending his days on Starbase Yorktown making daily trips to the base’s hangar to monitor the progress of the Enterprise’s repairs. 

When he was not studying the piece by piece reconstruction of his beloved vessel, he was often assisting Commodore Paris and other Starfleet officials with preparation and strategy for various missions. His favorite activity on the base, however, was in training new members of the Starfleet force who came to Yorktown for specialized teaching and field experience. Jim felt a pang in his heart watching the young recruits undergoing the same process he had, what felt like a lifetime ago but in reality was not even ten years prior. Part of him worried that they would be discouraged by the constant perfection and obedience demanded by Starfleet just like he had been, that they might abandon their education, hopeless, and Starfleet would lose a potential hero. 

Jim was more than happy to accept invitations to give lectures for classes on base, and he was not unhappy with the noticeably packed rooms that his lectures attracted. He found that the feeling of speaking in front of an enraptured audience was a lot like manning the helm of the Enterprise, his crew hanging expectantly on his every command. 

“A captain constantly feels the pressure of the lives of everyone aboard their ship,” Jim warns, scanning the sea of wide-eyed recruits before him, “I feel this pressure every time I take my seat on the bridge of the Enterprise. With time, and admittedly a few learning experiences, I’ve realized that rather than letting this weight break me in those critical moments,” Jim steps down from the podium to pace thoughtfully before the class, his legs itching to move after standing at the podium for what feels like ages, “I can use it to ground me, to tamp down the inevitable panic, and make those hard decisions that could mean the difference between losing and saving lives. I believe that each one of you has this same potential, and I look forward to seeing what amazing feats you can accomplish with it. Thank you.”

He nods his head in a humble bow as the crowd erupts into passionate applause. Their praise makes his chest swell with pride and he smiles to himself despite the air of professionalism that he often struggles to put on. 

Jim lets a small group of recruits gather around him as people file out of the room. He shakes eager hands and responds to almost excessive adoration with as modest thanks as he can manage. In the many faces in the room, Jim manages to spot that of Commander Spock near the entrance. He’s dressed more casually than usual in a tight fitting black turtleneck tucked into gray slacks, his eyes fixed on Jim.

He excuses himself politely from the company of the now disappointed recruits to greet his first officer, “What are you doing here?”

During his time on Yorktown, Spock had become one of the leading officials in the organization of the Vulcan community on base. As well as helping to construct more comfortable living spaces for the survivors that decided to remain on the starbase instead of relocate to New Vulcan, he had been collecting firsthand accounts of life on Vulcan and adding hundreds of transcribed interviews to the Federation’s database. Jim rarely saw him anymore except for several minutes of brief conversation in passing as they each went about their separate business. While he was often in awe of the incredible work that Spock had been doing, Jim would occasionally find himself craving the presence of his infuriatingly headstrong friend.

“I have heard many commendable evaluations of your classroom lectures and wished to attend one in order to determine the accuracy of said evaluations.” Spock replies casually, hands clasped behind his back.

Jim laughs, “So what do you think? Do I live up to the hype, Commander?” 

Spock glances at the last of the recruits as the room empties, “I admit a noticeable change in the demeanor of students after you speak that I have attributed to an increase in their confidence and general resolve. From this I would deem your lecturing abilities to be quite effective. If you had taken a different path, you might have become a distinguished Starfleet Academy instructor by now.”

Jim warms at the compliment and can’t help but give him an appreciative shoulder squeeze before teasing, “Wow, Spock, you should be careful giving me such blindingly enthusiastic praise or I might choke on my growing ego.”

Spock raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment on the irrationality of his statement. His face remains neutral as ever but Jim is able to detect a smile in Spock’s eyes that he hasn’t seen in a while. 

They walk side by side in comfortable silence as they leave the academic sector of the starbase and head towards the central atrium. Jim absently watches the throngs of people around them, amazed for the thousandth time while living on base at the vast diversity of races that manages to coexist in the same glass bubble. 

“I’m surprised you found time to attend a lecture with all the work you’ve been doing for the Committee for the Preservation of Endangered Cultures.” Jim finally says.

“It is true that I have devoted a considerable number of hours to the Committee’s activities,” Spock concedes, “however, I recently completed the transcription for the interview of the last remaining Vulcan survivor on base, so I felt it would be wise to engage in other activities for a short period.”

Jim frowns, glancing at Spock. “Listening to all of those stories about your home planet... All that’s left of such a beautiful civilization... I can’t imagine that must have been easy for you.”

“I can assure you, Captain, that I am more than skilled in such a field of work,” Jim glares at Spock meaningfully, “but if you were referring to the emotional ease of my project, I found it was rather... therapeutic to document the day to day lives of those who lived on Vulcan. The human concept of ‘nostalgia’ is not inaccurate in describing my attitude towards the experience.”

Jim nods, thinking about his own childhood in Nowhere, Iowa. He may not have as strong a connection to his home but even he would be devastated if the places he knew growing up were suddenly obliterated into nothingness. He, too, might find comfort in reminiscing with those who shared his happier memories. 

“Maybe you should be on New Vulcan, helping your people.” The thought of not having Spock by his side on the bridge of the Enterprise twists his insides, but Jim would feel infinitely worse if Spock would be happier and more productive among his own species.

“I have already considered the matter and concluded that I would be more fulfilled as first officer of the Enterprise, wherever that may take me.”

Jim doesn’t doubt that Spock has already considered it, but he worries that Spock might feel some sort of obligation to follow him into the dangers of unexplored space, whether to protect Jim from his own rash decisions or because he knows that Jim would be unhappy to have to part ways after all they’ve been through. They make an effective team, and Jim is doubtful that he’d be able to find the same dynamic with someone else. He pauses to look over the nearby railing into the market square beneath and thinks to himself that these are not unreasonable concerns.

Spock must sense Jim’s doubt because he continues, “My place is beside you, Jim, for now and always. Trust that if I felt otherwise, I would not hesitate to tell you.”

Jim looks up to meet Spock’s intense gaze, stunned by the sincerity of his words. His shoulders relax the tension that he didn’t realize they were holding and Jim is suddenly grateful that his first officer knows him well enough to know exactly what to say to ease his mind. 

Realizing that their conversation has become almost uncomfortably serious, he quickly replies with a scoff, “I’ll try to remember that the next time we’re at each other’s throats, arguing on the bridge. Don’t speak too soon Commander, you of all people should know I have a unique talent to drive people insane.”

“I have noticed that you possess a number of unique talents, Captain.” Jim thinks he sees a slight smirk on Spock’s face before they continue walking. 

They stroll for a while casually discussing their time on Yorktown, catching up after the weeks they’d gone without really seeing each other. They settle back into a familiar rhythm despite their time apart, and Jim is struck by how few people can make him feel as at ease as Spock does. It might have something to do with how many times they’ve each almost died and also saved each others’ lives. He supposes that such experiences are bound to bring two people closer together.

Neither of them notice as the lights throughout the starbase begin to dim. Although the sun near the base is almost always shining, the base runs on a 25 hour day where a darkening screen rolls down each glass panel around late afternoon, sending the base into an artificial night.

Jim suddenly hears a ping from his communicator and opens it to see a message from Lieutenant Uhura:

  * _Do you have plans tonight? Scotty, Bones, and I are going to the bar next to the Talaxian diner_



“Uhura is asking me if I have plans tonight.” He looks to Spock.

“If you would like to take your leave now I would not mind-”

“Are you busy tonight?” Jim interrupts.

Spock looks somewhat taken aback. “I do not believe I have anything on my schedule for this evening but I-”

“You’re coming to the bar with us.” Jim declares, already typing his response.

  * _No plans. Spock and I were just catching up. You got room for two more?_



  * _Always. Meet us there in half an hour!_



“I am unsure that I would be welcome to accompany you-” Spock begins.

“Look, Uhura says she wants you there!” Jim interrupts once again, showing Spock the message on his communicator. 

Uhura and Spock didn’t get back together once they’d all gotten settled on Yorktown, to the shock of most of the crew, but from what Jim could tell they remained friendly. He’d spoken to Uhura about it briefly one day over lunch and he’d gathered that the separation was mutual, though Spock had felt the need to give Uhura probably more space than she needed. Uhura is not the sensitive, heartbroken human that Spock might think she is, but Jim figures that Uhura is appreciative of the effort. Regardless, he’s been thinking it’s about time they stop being awkward around each other.

Before Spock can protest again, Jim puts an arm around his shoulder and says, “Do you sense that, Spock? Something in the air tonight tells me that I should get ridiculously hammered.”

Spock lets out a frustrated sigh but doesn’t stop Jim from dragging him in the direction of the bar that Jim already knows the location of by heart. It’s only natural that he spend some time during his stay becoming acquainted with the location of every seller of alcohol on base.

<> <> <>

Jim pretends not to notice how Spock stiffens as they enter the bar. The warmly lit room only about three times the size of the Captain’s quarters on the Enterprise is comfortably crowded with a diverse group of chattering beings. Jim immediately feels at home as the scents of cheap whiskey and sweat reach his nose. Spock, on the other hand, seems to be seconds from turning and walking right back out the door. 

Before Spock can think twice, Jim quickly spots Uhura, Scotty, and Bones at a semicircular booth near the back of the bar. “Hey guys!” he calls to them, tugging Spock along behind him by the wrist.

“Oh Christ,” Bones rolls his eyes, “Uhura, did you know Jim was going to bring the hobgoblin?”

Uhura smiles at them as Jim slides in next to Scotty, Spock sliding in after him, “I did, actually. I’m convinced that you don’t like having Spock around only because he analyzes you a little too accurately.”

Scotty laughs, “God forbid we migh’ actually git to know each other afder years aboard the same ship.”

“Let’s not gang up on each other for one night, maybe?” Jim chuckles at the petulant face that Bones is making as he sips his brandy.

Spock sits uncomfortably on the edge of the booth, opposite Uhura, with his hands folded in his lap. “If my presence is making anyone uncomfortable I would not be opposed to retiring to my apartment.”

“No, Spock,” Uhura assures him, glaring at Bones, “you are more than welcome here. I apologize in advance for the potential inconvenience of four drunk humans later tonight.” 

Jim meets Spock’s eyes for a moment and gives him an apologetic look. He always found it unfortunate that Vulcan biology allowed them to process alcohol too fast to feel its effects. He’d given up trying long ago to find a way to get Spock into any state of intoxication, and as far as he knew Vulcan bodies could process anything without a problem.

The bar’s only waitress, a kind looking Betazoid woman with curly blonde hair, stops by their table to take Jim’s order for a bourbon and Spock’s for just a glass of water.

“Aye, fellas!” Scotty raises his glass in cheers. “We celebratin’ the near completion of her royal highness the U.S.S. Enterprise! Tha calls for a night o’ drinkin’ til I can’t see straight.”

“Now, _that_ I can get behind.” Bones raises his glass, too.

The waitress returns and slides Jim’s drink across the table to him with a wink. 

“Thanks.” He says, meeting her deep black eyes for a sultry moment while Bones and Scotty snicker to themselves. Uhura simply raises her eyebrows, along with her glass.

Spock, on the other hand, looks decidedly put off having had a front row seat to such a blatant show of flirtation. Considering the modesty and sophistication of Vulcan courtship and his lack of experience in bars, he’s probably not used to it. Jim has the urge to apologize to him but quickly dismisses it because he’s Captain James T. Kirk and he never apologizes for being irresistibly charming.

“Alright, you guys. Cheers to returning to the great unknown frontier of space!” Jim proclaims, raising his glass to meet those of his friends with a satisfying cacophony of clinks. 

After they’ve each taken a long sip of their drinks, Scotty laments, “Bloody hell, I ain’t gotta chance of gettin’ anyone’s attention with Jimmy and Uhura at the table.”

“Hey, speak for yourself buddy,” Bones takes a swig, “I’ve been getting plenty, thank you very much. Some of us don’t have to rely on the superficial shit to get laid.”

“Are you implying that all I do is sit there and look pretty?” Jim laughs.

Uhura scoffs, “Isn’t that what you do as captain?”

Jim makes a mock offended expression with a hand on his chest as the rest of them laugh. It’s been a long time since he’d spent time with close friends like this. He hadn’t realized how lonely he’d been until now, which makes his chest ache with gratitude to whatever all-powerful being gave him this life he’s sure he doesn’t deserve. He’s going to take advantage of it, regardless of how deserving he is.

After about three more whiskeys and going around the table sharing stories from their adventures aboard the Enterprise, Jim starts to feel the effects of the alcohol making him loose and warm. There’s nothing like inebriation to help Jim relax the pressures of his position that constantly weigh on him. When he’s with these people, who truly know him, who truly care, he can finally be himself.

Spock is in the middle of describing in almost gorey detail the exact sensation of punching Khan in the face, to an enraptured audience, when the waitress returns once more with refills.

“I hope you all are enjoying your night so far?”

“Of course,” Jim replies, “all thanks to your truly amazing service.” He gives her his most genuine smile and a seductive wink.

It seems to do the trick because she blushes and tosses her blonde curls over her shoulder as she takes their empty glasses. Jim watches her as she walks to the bar and notices the way she exaggerates the movement of her hips with each step, knowing damn well that he’s watching her.

“By god, Jim,” Bones says, his mouth hanging open, “maybe you do know how to smooth talk.”

“No, no, no!” Scotty stammers, “Birds love a man with an accent. Here’s wah I do:” He turns to Uhura, leaning forward with his head resting on his palm, “why hello there, lassie. Seems I’ve forgottin my phone number. Think I could have yers instead?”

Jim absolutely cracks up at Scotty’s cheesy pickup line, which turns out to be ten times less smooth in a heavily slurred Scottish accent.

Uhura covers her mouth with her hand to keep from spitting out her drink. “I’m certainly speechless.”

Scotty sits back looking satisfied with himself while Bones pipes up, “Naw, that’s not how you win a lady over. You gotta do all the talking with your eyes, man.”

He lifts his arm to rest it on the booth behind Uhura’s head, tilting his head down slightly so that he’s looking at her through his eyelashes. He licks his lips, maybe just a little too sloppily to be attractive, and croons, “Hi darlin’, I couldn’t help but notice that you might need some company this fine evening.”

Crossing her legs and batting her eyelashes, Uhura puts on her best southern accent, “Oh good heavens, I knew chivalry ain’t dead yet!”

“No, ya wee cunt. Yer just givin’ her a death stare. You’re gonna send her runnin’ out the door!”

Bones turns to Scotty beside him, almost spilling his drink as he shifts to put his arm around Scotty’s shoulders, “No, look! The trick is to look up so you give ‘em the puppy dog eyes. It makes women want to take care of you, ya know?” He gives Scotty the same look he gave Uhura and Scotty makes a face like he smells something bad.

“Jimmy, would’ya tell this bastard he’s bein’ a right creep?”

Jim sets his drink down and shrugs, “I dunno, Scotty, it’s a lot better than shitty one-liners.”

Scotty laughs and gives his thigh a hardy smack. “Alrigh’ then, how about this one,” He puts a sweaty hand on Jim’s and says, “I know yer not from around here, laddie, ‘cause that arse is outta this world!”

Uhura snorts and has to set her drink down to keep from spilling it. Bones slaps Scotty on the back and lets out a drunken laugh. Jim even thinks he sees Spock smiling behind the rim of his glass of water. 

Throughout the night Jim had been peripherally aware of Spock becoming more comfortable next to him. He’s no longer sitting with his back perfectly straight and when Jim every so often happens to lean slightly into him to avoid Scotty’s flailing arms, he doesn’t feel Spock stiffen at the closeness. But he can’t help the worry in the back of his mind that Spock might still feel unwelcome among them.

“Listen up, guys, this is how it’s _really_ done,” He turns to his other side to face Spock, who raises his eyebrows when Jim rests his elbow on the booth beside Spock’s head, taking a moment to look the perfectly groomed Vulcan up and down. “I don’t usually do this but... I just can’t stop looking at you from across the room. Truly, I think just the sight of you has made my entire night.” Jim bites his lip just a little bit and continues, “I think the least I can do to return the favor is buy you a drink.”

Uhura breaks into light applause at his performance. Bones whistles from the other side of the booth and Scotty mutters, “Well, he ain’t got a reputation for nuthin’.”

Spock doesn’t say anything for a while, his mouth just barely hanging open, and while he tries his best to maintain eye contact despite his intoxication, Jim feels like he’s swimming in Spock’s dark eyes. He can’t tell whether or not it’s the alcohol that’s making him feel lost at sea.

Then, Spock is setting his drink on the table and closing a few more inches of distance between them, the look in his eyes pinning Jim to his seat, unable to move. “I find that I am unable to refuse such a generous offer.” Jim can feel the heat of Spock’s breath on his face and it almost makes him shiver. “I think you’ll find that I am unable to refuse any offer you make me. After all... it is against my nature not to cherish beauty when I see it.”

Jim is completely stunned, his face burning. He was unaware that Spock was capable of being even remotely provocative. In hindsight, it explained how he’d been able to score a woman as gorgeous as Uhura. Suddenly that moment in the transporter room just before he and Spock were going to be beamed onto the Romulan ship _Narada_ to confront Nero came into his mind. He remembered watching Spock kiss Uhura with unusually _human_ passion.

“Son of a bitch,” Bones says, breaking the silence, “even the cold-blooded elf has some game.”

Jim is shaken out of his stupor when Scotty slaps a hand on his shoulder, “He’s dumbstruck, the poor bastard!” Jim nervously laughs along with him, wondering why he feels like all the breath has just been knocked out of him.

Uhura, apparently, was not oblivious to the moment that just transpired because she takes a long sip of her drink, eyes flitting back and forth between the two of them. Jim makes eye contact with her briefly, giving her an incredulous look that she responds to with a knowing smile. He’s not sure exactly what that smile means but it scares him just a little bit.

He promptly attempts to forget what just happened by finishing his drink and ordering another. He continues the rest of the night laughing along to Bones and Scotty’s drunken shenanigans, all the while trying his best to avoid looking at Spock sitting right next to him. 

After a couple more rounds of drinks, the bar begins to empty out. Scotty has the bright idea of trying to get up on top of the table but he ends up spilling his drink on Bones and the bartender starts giving their booth a dirty look.

“I think it might be time to head out, you guys.” Uhura announces, looking a little flushed but otherwise as regal and graceful as ever. 

Jim, on the other hand, is nearly about to fall asleep on the table. He rubs a hand down his face and groans.

“That would be most advisable.” Spock agrees.

Uhura and Spock each slide out of the booth with Bones following soon after, still cussing Scotty out for staining his shirt. Uhura helps Scotty up out of his seat while Spock heads to the bartender to take care of the most likely exorbitant bill. 

Jim tries his best to get out of the booth on his own without stumbling but he has to maintain a tight grip on the table to keep from wobbling. 

“You okay, Captain?” Uhura asks, putting an arm around his shoulder to steady him.

Jim blinks quickly to try and stop the room from spinning. “Yep, m’good. S’totally fine.”

Despite his insistence, Uhura places one of his arms around her neck to stabilize him. As he’s heading for the door, Jim turns to give a little wave in the direction of the waitress. Unfortunately, his vision is a little too blurry to see how she responds, but in his head he imagines her blowing him a kiss on his way out.

“Homeward bound, laddies!” Scotty shouts into the empty walkway outside of the bar, leaning on Bones as the two walk on ahead.

Jim realizes a little too late that he’s putting most of his weight on Uhura, causing her to stagger. 

“Fuck, m’sorry.” he mutters, trying to hold himself up.

“I’ve got him, Nyota.” Spock appears on his other side, a strong arm wrapping around his waist. He’s not sure why, exactly, but the touch startles him, his heart pounding just a little bit faster. 

“Well,” Uhura scoffs, “If you insist.” She takes a moment to brush herself off and says under her breath, “I think our captain is a lightweight.”

Jim swings around to face Uhura, nearly twisting Spock’s neck as he does so. “Hey! Am not!”

“Your current condition says otherwise, Jim.” Bones calls over his shoulder. Scotty breaks into a fit of laughter. 

They all spend the rest of the way to the residential quadrant just enjoying each other’s company. Every once in a while Scotty breaks the silence with an inebriated rendition of Abba, and sometimes Jim joins in. He feels that ache in his chest again, the one he gets when things seem just too good to be true. He wonders how long it will take for the peace to be shattered, because it always shatters eventually.

The group reaches an intersection and they begin to go their separate ways for the night, but not before a round of slurred goodbyes. Maybe it’s the alcohol that’s making him emotional but watching all of his friends walk off into the night is more bittersweet than he’d like to admit.

“Alright, Commander, you can let me go now.” Jim sighs, trying to extract himself from Spock’s grip.

Spock’s grip remains firm. “I would advise that you allow me to accompany you to your quarters.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake...” he grumbles to himself. He gives one hard yank of his body and Spock finally lets him go, but he realizes too late that he doesn’t have control of his momentum. He ends up sprawled on the ground, fully regretting the excessive number of drinks he’d had that night.

Jim lays there a moment waiting for the dizziness to fade before rolling over onto his back. “Actually, you might be right.”

Spock looks down at him with an almost smirk and holds out his hand. “Of course I am, Captain.”

Jim scoffs but takes Spock’s hand anyway, feeling weightless for a moment until he finds his balance again, still anchored to Spock by the hand. He tries not to feel too embarrassed as Spock guides him patiently to his apartment, distinguished from the many others in its row only by a Starfleet flag hanging limply by the door. 

Steadying himself with a hand on Spock’s sturdy shoulder, Jim fishes his key out of his pocket and thanks god that it’s the kind that he can just press against the door handle to unlock because he’s sure that he would embarrass himself further if he had to fit a tiny piece of metal into a keyhole in his condition.

The door swings open and he’s about to finally send his first officer on his way when Spock says, “I know of some preventative methods to relieve the unpleasant symptoms you might experience in the morning, if I may come inside with you.”

Jim shrugs, too tired to argue and knowing Spock would follow him inside no matter how much he protests. 

He feels the absence of the arm around his waist when Spock closes the door behind them, the lights turning on automatically at their movement. Jim suddenly feels self-conscious of his plainly furnished dwelling, the only decoration being his diploma from Starfleet Academy hanging alone on the wall. He immediately brushes off his self-consciousness as childish because why should he care what Spock thinks of his home decor? Tossing his key onto the table, Jim passes the kitchen and heads straight for his bedroom down the hall, promptly kicking his shoes off and flopping onto the unmade bed.

As he stares blankly at the ceiling, Jim hears Spock rustling around in the kitchen and then in his bathroom. He thinks to himself that it’s the first time in a while that his apartment hasn’t felt lonely; he didn’t realize how quiet it was until there was someone else there to fill the silence. He closes his eyes for a moment and feels the pull of sleep behind his eyes.

“Here,” Spock says, walking into the room and holding out his hand for Jim to take the two painkillers that lay on his palm.

He sits up and pops the pills into his mouth, then taking the glass of water that Spock holds in his other hand. He feels almost like a kid again, his mom giving him medicine when he’s sick to help him sleep, as he swallows the pills.

“I would advise decreasing your alcohol consumption next time.” Spock suggests, folding his arms behind his back.

Jim doesn’t reply at first, lost in thought as he sets the glass of water on his nightstand. He’s reminded briefly of the talks they would sometimes share in his quarters on the Enterprise, up late discussing matters regarding their mission or sometimes Federation politics. He always noticed a change in the way they interacted when it was just the two of them as opposed to in a group of people. He felt less tense, somehow.

He looks up to meet Spock’s concerned gaze, his voice barely above a whisper, “Thanks.”

The furrow in Spock’s brow softens just a fraction. “I am only fulfilling my duties as first officer by ensuring your continued health and safety, Captain.”

“Thanks for everything.”

They share a moment of silence, eyes locked. Jim looks up at his first officer and he has the nagging thought that there’s no way he’s more qualified for his job than Spock. Somehow, the one who’s drunk off his ass is first in command and the one taking care of him, calm and collected as always, is second. He can’t imagine where he’d be without Spock, probably dead. There’s a look in his eyes that gives Jim the feeling that Spock is looking through him, which makes him wonder what Spock must think of him, the mess that he is. But there’s no judgement in his gaze.

Jim’s eyelids start to flutter and he yawns. 

“It would be in your best interest to get some rest now, Captain.” He puts a hand on Jim’s shoulder and gently urges him to lay down. His touch is warm and comforting.

As he lays back in bed, Jim studies Spock’s flawless pale skin and neatly trimmed hair with a frown. His appearance strikes him as unnaturally perfect, and he has to fight the sudden impulse to reach up and muss up Spock’s hair just to make himself feel less ashamed of his own dishevelment.

After settling comfortably under the covers, Jim turns to watch Spock turn out the lights, already dreading the void that will be left in the apartment without him. “I look forward to being back on the bridge with you, Spock.”

Jim sees Spock’s figure pause in the doorway, “As do I, Jim.”

Hearing Spock address him by his name rather than his title makes Jim’s face heat up. The last thing he thinks before he hears the door close and he drifts off to sleep is that his bed feels more empty than usual tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope i didn't make you wait too long and thank you for all of your lovely feedback! <3

For the past few days, Spock has been having difficulty sleeping. As a Vulcan, it isn’t essential that he sleep every night like humans do, but after several more sleepless nights he knows it will begin to affect his performance. He’s been trying to make up for it with periodic meditation throughout the day, but in this too he’s been having difficulty. As soon as he shuts his eyes, the concentration and focus that usually come so easily to him always manage to slip out of his grasp.

At first, he thought it was because he’d completed his interview project for the Committee and he simply needed another task to occupy his time. So he threw himself into his work, planning and overseeing the construction of a memorial to the millions of Vulcans lost to Nero’s violence. But after spending hours upon hours on his new project, only stopping to eat and rest, he still sometimes has random moments of dissociation that interrupt his attention.

If Spock is being honest with himself, his symptoms began the night at the bar with the captain. He really should have declined the invitation to go out drinking, if he can even say he “went out drinking” when all he drank was water. 

It’s not that the experience had been unpleasant. Spock had not been uninterested in studying the behavior of humans under the influence of ethanol, despite struggling the entire time to understand why they would consider it enjoyable. He’ll take any chance he can get to learn more about these people who he shares half of his DNA with. He also understands the importance of social interaction in strengthening interpersonal connections, which will hopefully make command run more smoothly on the bridge.

No, that’s not the reason Spock is mildly regretful of that night. It seems that there’s a part of him that reacts strangely to seeing his captain in positions of vulnerability. Somehow, his mind has been battling to unify the headstrong, respected Starfleet officer with the unguarded, fragile man he’d locked eyes with that night. Jim sitting on the edge of his bed, Spock looking down into a face so full of gratitude and sorrow that it almost compelled him to reach out and provide physical comfort. Seeing Jim like that, almost _delicate_ , stirs something inside of Spock that makes him want to fend off every foul thing that could possibly do him harm.

This sudden possessiveness is most unlike him, and he would be the first to tell anyone that Captain James T. Kirk is more than capable of defending himself. God knows that Jim has already cheated death out of sheer stubbornness more than once. The memory of his captain slumped on the other side of the glass in the decontamination chamber after manually realigning the warp core, when Spock thought he’d lost another person he held close, still haunts him. It takes a lot to make a Vulcan cry as he had in that moment. Spock eventually concluded that it’s the possibility of losing him that has brought on these unusual reactions. It’s only natural that he have a strong connection to his captain after what they’ve been through together.

All of these deeply felt desires and emotions have also been a reminder of his humanity. If he were only more knowledgeable of Vulcan techniques or more resilient he would surely have everything under control. His father would be disappointed if he was aware of Spock’s condition, he’s sure. As it is, his father has much more important business to address on New Vulcan.

Regardless, Spock thinks it best to avoid both the captain and the rest of the crew for a period. It would be pointless to worry them about something so trivial, something Spock is sure will pass by the time the U.S.S. Enterprise is prepared to launch back into space for their next mission.

The Committee provided him with a temporary office while he remained on Starbase Yorktown, tucked away at the edge of the nonprofit sector of the base. He chose this location so that he wouldn’t be easily disturbed but also so he could temperature control the room to a comfortable Vulcan level without disturbing anyone else. He was also not opposed to having a window at the back of his office that provided a pleasant view through the base’s glass shell into the stars beyond.

It is in his office that he has spent the past 34.4 hours, according to the clock on the wall. The project at hand required his full attention, which he was more than happy to provide. Not to mention that Spock needed a considerable amount of data clearance, as well as approval from several members of the Vulcan High Council, to concoct the elaborate device he’s building for the Vulcan memorial on Yorktown. 

He stares intently at his screen, scanning lines of code for syntax errors that he’s much too skilled to have made but checks for anyways. Beside his screen lies a touchpad in a bed of jumbled wires, the result of hours of research into electrical and computer engineering combined with advice from the few experts on base he was able to consult with. He tests the touchpad again, placing his hand on the surface with his fingers spread in the _ta’al,_ the Vulcan salute.

At his touch, a hologram emanates from the pad displaying a glitching mess of bright green light. He furrows his brows and goes back to scanning his code.

The touchpad is designed to be mounted on a pedestal at the center of the memorial, creating an interactive tribute to his vanished homeland. The idea for it came to him briefly as he was looking over the belongings of Ambassador Spock shortly after his passing. He’d spent a good period of time looking intently at the picture of his alternate universe self and the rest of the Enterprise’s crew. 

Spock barely notices the light shining from his window making it’s way slowly to the other side of the room as the hours pass, more absorbed in the task at hand than he has been for days. Something about programming, the pure logic of it, leaves little of his brain power to be used on anything else. His Vulcan DNA provides him with an inherent talent for it. He may be struggling to understand his recent psychological unrest, but the letters and punctuation on the screen make perfect sense to him.

He continues to improve his code with trial and error, periodically having the program return values at different points in the code to see where the problems are. It reminds him of when he studied at Starfleet Academy before becoming an instructor, staying up late working on code for his programming classes during a much simpler time.

At last, after a few more test runs to make sure everything is working properly, Spock again places his hand on the touchpad. This time, the green light projects a message into the air in front of him. Written first in Vulcan characters, and below in Federation Standard, are the words: “May the legacy of those lost live long and prosper.”

By design, the touchpad reads his fingerprints and DNA, scanning an expanse of Vulcan data to project the faces of his closest genetic relatives who died with his home planet. If someone wanted to, they could swipe through over six billion faces to see every single Vulcan that met their end that day. Spock felt that it would be a proper tribute to have every last casualty permanently commemorated in a place where loved ones could appreciate their likeness.

The first face to be projected to him is that of his mother. Though she was not a member of the Vulcan species, she was a highly respected citizen on their planet. Just as worthy of being memorialized as anyone else, Spock thinks, and just as mourned. Seeing her before him again, her eyes carrying the same warmth and her cheeks the same color as he remembers, drives a painful stab into his abdomen. He sits there in front of the hologram as though frozen in place by her gaze. 

He can almost imagine her reaching out and stroking his cheek as she often did in the private of their home, where no Vulcans would judge her for her coddling and shows of physical affection. Spock will never admit it to anyone, but her touch would be more than welcome in this moment. He’s sure that if he was in need, she would sit with him while he discussed his recent troubles and give him the exact insight he’s been looking for to make sense of everything. She never faulted him for his shows of humanity. 

Spock comes back to his senses slowly, finally lifting his hand from the touchpad to swipe through the faces of distant cousins twice and thrice removed to make sure the system is running properly. After a while, he turns the touchpad off and watches the faces of those lost fade away into thin air. He leans back in his chair, drained from hours of work and from attempting to maintain his emotional composure after seeing his mother. Admittedly, he’s exhausted from having to maintain his emotional composure in general. 

After a moment looking out into the abyss of space on the other side of the glass, Spock decides he should find the contractor on base who’s helping him with the construction of the memorial. He has work to do, and he won’t let his mental turmoil affect his productivity if it’s the last thing he does.

<><><>

Spock suddenly finds himself in the open air dining area near the central atrium of the base. Metal tables and chairs are spread across a spacious cemented circle, sunken slightly into the floor like a shallow amphitheatre. The mostly white and gray scene is broken up sporadically by lush potted plants and a bubbling fountain in the center shaped like a simple cone, water spitting out of the top and cascading down it’s marble facade.

The area is moderately crowded at this hour, about 1 o'clock in the afternoon, and the everyday buzz of chatter echoes around him. It is a stark contrast to the quiet solitude of his office and Spock has to pause a moment to accustom himself to the environment. No matter how hard Spock tries to desensitize himself to being in large throngs of people, it never fails to eventually bring him to a point of being overwhelmed by stimuli.

It took a good 11 minutes and 34 seconds to find the current whereabouts of his contractor, and it would be wrong to say he isn’t feeling mildly inconvenienced at the moment. Honestly, Spock thinks, it seems inappropriate to take an extra long lunch break with such an important project in the works. He considers speaking to one of the higher ups in the committee to discuss finding a more reliable contracting company.

A few of the people near him stop to stare at him. Several months ago, it came to Spock’s attention while staying on Starbase Yorktown that after the destruction of Vulcan, many take greater notice of the few Vulcans that live here. He would find offense at being gawked at if he doesn’t also take particular notice of fellow Vulcans that he sees in passing. He isn’t sure how he’s supposed to react to the reminder that his species is endangered, except to find solidarity with those who are experiencing it with him. 

He scans the space for the stout, bearded man he’d met several days prior who had assured him he had everything under control. For not the first time, Spock wonders at the excess of confidence that some individuals are able to possess.

Ignoring the stares, Spock’s gaze flicks between the sea of faces before stopping at the sight of neatly-parted, caramel-blonde hair. Captain Kirk sits on the opposite side of the fountain to Spock, slouching back slightly into his chair. He’s talking animatedly with his hands waving energetically in the air like a pair of butterflies as he speaks. Across the table from him sits Carol Marcus, daughter of the late Admiral Marcus and the woman who once falsified her information in order to board the Enterprise without proper authorization. She sits with her legs crossed and elbows on the table, leaning slightly towards the captain to listen intently to what he’s saying. 

It’s truly none of his business who his captain decides to spend time with, but he stops to stare anyways. From what he remembers, he often observed signs of attraction in Jim’s body language when he was around Carol. However, after contemplation, Spock concedes that he shows signs of attraction when he's around most women. It was in Spock's nature to take note of such things, but he takes particular note of Carol’s body language as she sits with Jim now. 

After a moment, she laughs fervently at some remark that the captain has made and reaches a hand out to casually brush his shoulder. Spock’s eyes lock onto the brief contact and something begins to coil madly within him.

Everything around him falls away except for the table on the opposite side of the room where Carol and his captain sit. He feels the burn of anger and fear boiling up in his throat and it drowns out all thoughts in his mind. He no longer remembers his plans of speaking with the contractor, nor the several people in his vicinity still staring curiously at him. From somewhere deep within him comes the urge to wrap his hands around Carol’s neck, squeeze until the life drains from her eyes, and fling her lifeless body off the side of the railing. The edges of his vision begin to turn a poisonous green.

But then his eyes are met with Jim’s striking blue ones, and his mind snaps out if it’s violent reverie. In that second that they lock eyes across the distance of the dining area, Jim’s eyes lighting up for a moment before being clouded with confusion, Spock has the abrupt feeling of being caught doing something incredibly offensive. He feels his cheeks color with shame.

The instant he regains control of his limbs, Spock turns on his heel and walks straight back the way he’d come at a determined pace. 

<><><>

Jim has been having a hard time concentrating recently. He’ll be having a conversation with a recruit or be in a meeting with important Federation officials and realize he hasn’t been listening to a single word that’s been said. 

The problem is Spock, really. Jim hasn’t seen him since that night when he took Jim home from the bar. Sometimes he thinks he sees Spock out of the corner of his eye, a head of short black hair, pale skin or pointed ears, and Jim will stop whatever he’s doing to look. But it’s never him. At first he thought he’d scared him off, that Jim had been a little too much that night and Spock decided he wasn’t worth the trouble of having around anymore. That had been a very painful thought, and it had kept him up at night.

But they’d spent the last several years together without too many problems. Jim knows for a fact that he’s been more obnoxious, for multiple days in a row, numerous times in the past five years, and _that_ hadn’t driven Spock away. Though, it wouldn’t surprise Jim if yet another person in his life began to tire of his reckless immaturity. He’s pretty accustomed to people telling him “no” or not taking him seriously, which is why he’s gotten into the habit of doing what he wants despite what other people say.

The most likely case is that Spock has simply been busy with work, considering productivity and efficiency are basically his two main drives. God only knows that Spock is the best man for the job he’s been doing with the committee, and God knows that Spock will put every ounce of his being into it. Jim is proud of his first officer’s work ethic.

But _damn_ does Jim miss him. He’s been subconsciously comparing everyone else that he talks to with Spock and no one has even come close. It always seems like he’s pretending to be someone else when he’s with other people, so that they don’t question whether he deserves his position or see him as the sad shadow of his father. He really wants to live up to everyone’s expectations of him. But he never worries about that around Spock. He doesn’t usually worry about that around some other members of the crew, like Uhura, Bones, and Scotty, but the differences in title are more significant and he has to ensure their obedience somehow. No wonder Spock is liable to be charged with insubordination half the time, Jim rarely acts like Spock's superior.

He’s close to scouring the entire base just to see Spock, but he’ll gouge his own eye out before he comes off as needy. He’s been spending so much of his life convincing everyone that he doesn’t need anyone that he’s almost convinced himself of it. Jim tries not to do too much self-reflection, for fear of finding things he doesn’t like, but he’ll admit to himself that he’s purposely reinforced his reputation as a lone-wolf delinquent at least a little bit.

In the meantime, he’s been continuing business as usual. The Enterprise is days away from being ready for launch, which means he and much of the crew have been wrapping up projects on base to prepare for their next five-year mission. He’s had a couple meetings with Commodore Paris about possible assignments for the Enterprise, some black market space trading here and some Romulan gang violence there. It all seems a little lame after some of the action they’ve had in the past but maybe Jim needs a little lame for once in his life.

He’s still been doing lectures for the Academy every once in a while. No matter how many times he glances towards the area by the door while he speaks, it’s always empty or otherwise devoid of his first officer. A tiny part of him still hopes Spock will show up to the next one, though.

It all makes Jim that much more eager to return to his beloved ship. Once he takes his seat on the bridge, his crew will be there waiting for his command and Spock will be there at his side. It makes his heart soar to remember what Spock said to him that day: “My place is beside you, Jim, for now and always.”

After a morning of looking over some of the final touches to the ship’s repairs, Jim decides to walk around the base and enjoy the sights before he leaves it all behind in a few days. He’s walking towards the central atrium when he hears someone say his name.

“Is that the famous James T. Kirk, Captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise?”

Jim turns and lights up when he sees an attractive blonde standing before him. “My god, is that the famous Lieutenant Carol Marcus, Captain of the unofficial Starfleet bomb squad?”

She laughs and pulls him into a hug. Jim savors the feeling of it before she pulls away.

“How’ve you been, Jim? Do you have time for a chat?”

“Sure,” he says, and they begin walking towards a nearby sitting area, “I’ve been doing pretty well here on base. No life-threatening events lately. What are you doing here, anyways?”

She sighs, “I’ve been doing some research in the Necro Cloud nebula nearby but some of my team’s instruments have been malfunctioning. I came on base to get them fixed or find replacements. Some of the parts are harder to come by than I’d thought.”

“Well, unfortunately, science isn’t my strong suit. But if you ever need ‘famous’ Captain Kirk to go intimidate some nerds and speed up the process to help get what you need, I’d be more than happy to oblige.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.” she says with a warm smile.

They find an empty table and take a seat. Jim takes a moment to survey their clean, white surroundings, thinking to himself that all Starfleet bases seem to share a similar artificial quality. The people are always different, though. There’s a family sitting near them, two parents and their toddler playing happily with a bowl of something colorful, generally making a mess and causing his parents distress. It’s a wholesome scene that makes Jim feel out of place.

“Hey,” Jim begins, “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your father’s funeral service...” He trails off, not sure how to explain himself.

“I completely understand,” she gives him a sad look, more sympathy than pity, “and that was years ago. If I remember correctly, Admiral Pike also passed around that time. I heard you two were close.”

“Yeah, we were. He was the closest thing I had to a father.” Jim feels something catch in his throat at the bittersweet memory of Pike. It was Pike’s belief in him that got Jim to where he is today because he sure hadn’t believed in himself. Sometimes when he’s in a difficult situation he’ll ask himself what Pike would do in his place. It always helps.

“I still can’t tell if it gets easier over time.” she laments.

Jim gives her a sad smile. “I can’t tell either, I feel just as lost as I did the day he died.”

“That’s why we have to be here for each other.” Carol assures him, placing a hand near him on the table as a sign of support. He doesn’t reach out to her, but he shows his appreciation for her words through his gaze.

At one point, he thought he saw himself being with her. From the moment he saw her, he could feel the tug of attraction in his gut. In another world, he might ask her to join his crew, they might start dating, maybe then they would settle down somewhere and start a family. But that’s another world, and Jim doesn’t see himself in it. He doesn’t feel that tug in his gut when he looks at her anymore, either. He glances again at the family sitting nearby to watch one of the parents wipe food from the toddler’s cheek. No, he doesn’t think that life is for him.

Every time he takes his seat on the bridge of the Enterprise he feels a kind of _rightness_. Truly, the only thing he can picture himself doing is being commanding officer of a ship. He’s not sure if it’s because he actually finds it fulfilling or because he doesn't feel like he’s worthy of that perfect life with a loving wife and children. Something tells him he’d feel restless living like that, knowing he could be out there saving lives. Besides, almost dying every once in a while has really helped him realize what he wants to hold onto.

Jim winces, “Sorry for bringing up such a sad topic. I promise I’m usually a ray of sunshine.”

“Oh, please! You’re more than entitled to be a depressing rain cloud every once in a while. I’ve been meaning to ask something anyway; I heard you had something to do with that attack on the base a couple months ago? I think his name was Krall?”

“Ah,” he laughs, “now _that’s_ an interesting story. Where do I even start?”

He proceeds to tell Carol the gritty details of his encounter with the infamous Krall, being stranded on a planet without communication, breaking the crew out of the swarm’s concentration camp, and the epic one on one fistfight he and Krall had in the life support hub of the starbase. He tries to sound at least a little bit humble as he describes how he basically saved every living thing on Yorktown and almost got sucked into the deadly abyss of space in the process.

“I think I’ve seen my life flash before my eyes too many times now,” Jim jokes, “It’s starting to get old.”

“How can you say that? You’re a hero! Your life is full of adventure! God, they could make movies about you.” Carol looks as though she’s seriously considering it for a minute.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I need,” Jim scoffs, “an entourage and paparazzi. Should I hire a personal stylist while I’m at it? Do you really think a scrappy young man from Iowa can make it on the big screen?” He bats his eyelashes at her.

She cracks up at his performance, brushing a hand against his arm. “Oh, I was only teasing you... mostly.”

He’s not sure where it comes from, but Jim gets the sudden feeling that someone is looking at him. He frowns and scans the area. He’s just about to give up and accept that he’s going crazy when his eyes meet a pair on the far side of the room. 

Spock stands there, staring at him with a look that Jim has never seen on him before. He can feel the intensity of Spock’s gaze and it sends a chill down his spine. Something in his eyes looks dangerous, but somehow Jim understands that he’s not the one in danger. For just a moment, he gets the crazy sense that there’s envy in his stare. But this is _Spock._ Jim’s not sure what Spock would possibly have to be envious of, or if he’s even capable of feeling envy. But the sense still lingers in the back of his mind.

Jim sees something shift in Spock’s eyes, even from such a distance away, and suddenly he looks as startled as Jim feels. Without a word, Spock turns away and is gone, like he was never there to begin with. Jim almost convinces himself he imagined it except for the uneasy feeling swimming in his stomach and the image of Spock’s piercing glare burned into his mind.

“Is everything alright, Jim?” Carol asks, snapping him out of his stupor.

He shakes himself back to the present. “Yeah, sorry... I just thought I saw someone.”

“Hell, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Maybe all your adventuring has started to take a toll on you.” 

He sees genuine concern in her eyes and tries to compose himself. He does his best to brush it off by saying, “Well, that would certainly add to my mysterious, brooding character. I’ve heard the ladies love that.”

Jim pushes the strange encounter from his mind and attempts to carry on his conversation with Carol, but the uneasy feeling remains for the rest of the day. Even as he lays in bed awake that night, his thoughts a violent mess inside of his head, he has the fierce notion that something is very wrong with Spock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> changed the rating to Mature but eventually it's going to turn Explicit so just a warning


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're getting into 'pining' territory now folks. also don't mind me if i update past chapters every once in a while to make small edits.

“I have a feeling you already know this, but your hormone levels are way higher than normal right now. Not to mention your body temperature is high even by Vulcan standards.” Bones looks up from the datapad that has Spock’s current biomedical data. 

Spock sits on the examination table in the medbay of the ship for his pre-mission medical checkup with the doctor, which he’s been dreading for this very reason. “Yes, doctor, I am aware of numerous abnormalities that may be apparent in my blood work. There is something I was hoping to discuss with you before our mission.”

Bones looks dubious. “Spock, if you’re unfit for duty then I don’t think-”

“Doctor, I understand your concern. I can assure you that this is nothing severe enough to bar me from serving on the Enterprise, although it may require up to a week of onboard medical leave with your approval.”

He puts the datapad down on the table and folds his arms, giving Spock a stern look. “Alright, just tell me what the hell’s wrong with you.”

“Doctor, are you familiar with the Vulcan pon farr?” 

Spock had contemplated this possibility for a while, but after that moment in the dining area with the captain he was more than certain. The symptoms were recognizable, to say the least. He experienced his first pon farr almost seven years prior while employed as an instructor for the Academy, before meeting Jim and before he began his relationship with Uhura. It was somewhat frightening at the time, but after talking to his father and several members of the council he was authorized a trip to Vulcan for the duration of his pon farr. 

At the time, Spock was certain the council would assign him a mate, but his half-human genetics ensured that his options for a mate were limited. The council was reluctant to provide him with a match despite his success in the fleet and there were few willing volunteers. Far from being disappointed, Spock had opted for intensive meditation training. Few Vulcans chose to satisfy their pon farr with meditation considering how difficult and dangerous it could be, but Spock has been a skilled telepath from a young age. With the help of newly developed Vulcan medicine designed specifically to treat the symptoms of the Vulcan mating period, Spock had managed to complete his first pon farr unscathed and unmated. Spock is sure he will be able to accomplish this the second time around.

“Jesus...” Bones’ eyes widen. “I’m nowhere near qualified for that shit! You should be on New Vulcan with your own species, not on the Enterprise about to launch into the depths of space!” He runs a hand through his hair and starts pacing back and forth across the examination room but stops abruptly to look back at Spock. “How are you even okay right now? Shouldn’t you be on a murderous, lustful rampage or something?”

“I am only experiencing the initial onset of pon farr at the moment,” Spock explains patiently, having known in advance how the doctor might react, “my symptoms will reach their peak in approximately one week. By then, I will be locked in my quarters practicing the Vulcan meditation methods that I used to end my first pon farr.”

“You sound awfully confident about this even though it’s only your second. Isn’t that not how Vulcans usually deal with this business?”

“On Vulcan, we are prepared from a young age to handle our mating period. It is not something we like to discuss with non-Vulcans, but mating is not the only way to resolve our condition. Though it is not the preferred method for most, meditation is my preferred method.”

“Are you sure you’re okay to go on this mission?” Bones rubs a hand across his jaw in thought, “I mean, we could maybe delay the launch until after your pon farr.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Spock replies adamantly, “I won’t let this keep me from my responsibilities, and you know that the Enterprise needs me...” He pauses, “Jim needs me.”

Bones studies him carefully before saying, “Speaking of which, he might need an explanation as to why his first officer is hibernating in his room for several days.”

“I’m... I’m working on that.”

Spock is still unsure of how to deal with the matter concerning the captain. It was difficult at first for him to come to terms with the way his body reacted to the sight of Jim with Carol the other day. Before then, Spock had considered his relationship to his captain to be close, but had never seriously entertained the idea of being more than friends. Now, however, it seemed that that was all his mind could think about. 

When he looks back, there are moments that make more sense through this new lens. Those times when Jim was mere inches from death, the way Spock had nearly stopped breathing out of panic. The time when Jim had saved him from uncertain death in a volcanic eruption and how he’s never stopped feeling indebted to him since. When he was planning on leaving Starfleet to help with the construction of New Vulcan, he had changed his mind because of Jim. He’s not sure if he would have made the same decision for anyone else, even Uhura. It’s almost startling how much of his life revolves around James T. Kirk.

But Spock is nearly convinced that his captain would reject being anything more than what they are now. Regardless of whether he returns Spock’s sentiments, he is familiar with the complications that arise from a romantic relationship within the chain of command on the bridge. He knows Uhura struggled to remain fully impartial to him during critical operations, which is something that Spock also struggled with, then with Uhura and now with Jim. It would be considerably more practicable to keep his affections to himself in order to avoid complications.

Luckily, the doctor clears him without too much arguing, though he does give Spock a grave warning that he let the doctor know right away if something is even slightly amiss. Spock tries to allay his worries the best he can before taking his leave. As he walks out of the medbay, he takes a moment to look fondly about the interior of the ship.

Just as he’s proceeding down the hall towards the entrance ramp, he starts at the sight of his captain.

“Spock!” Jim’s face warms at the sight of him, “I guess Bones gave you the go ahead for our next mission.”

Spock’s body tenses as Jim steps in front of him, but he’s grateful that Jim seems to be ignoring that moment in the dining area for now. He keeps his hands clasped behind his back to limit the possibility of physical touch, something he would rather avoid knowing the consequences for doing. “Yes, I’ve been cleared. I assume that’s what you’re here for?”

“Yeah, hopefully I haven’t gained too much weight while on base.” He laughs, musical and sparkling, before continuing, “I know I can replicate any food I want in the mess hall but somehow it just doesn’t taste the same as the real thing.”

“You look to be at the epitome of good health, Captain.” Spock can’t help the way his eyes rove over Jim’s muscular build, lingering over the curve of his pecs and the bulge of his biceps through his shirt. He’s having difficulty keeping his gaze on Jim’s face.

Thankfully, Jim doesn’t seem to notice where Spock is looking. “Hey, maybe you could wait for me to finish my physical and we could go get something to eat.”

Everything in him is begging him to say yes, but Spock isn’t sure he could manage being in Jim’s presence for that long, so he quickly replies, “Unfortunately, I have business to attend to. Good Day, Captain.”

He dodges around Jim and makes a beeline for the door, already feeling the effects of the encounter making his heart race and face hot. Spock is disinclined to reveal to his captain what simply being in close proximity does to him. He wants to turn around and tell Jim he’s changed his mind so that they can eat and talk together and perhaps go back to one of their apartments, but he resists the desire. He thinks it best to head directly to his apartment to meditate.

<><><>

Jim is left alone in the hall of the Enterprise feeling oddly hurt. I mean, he knows Spock isn’t much of a talker, but that was a little cold even for him. Jim is willing to overlook that weird look Spock gave him from across the room the other day, but the way he just brushed Jim off entirely leaves a stinging ache. 

But more than feeling hurt, Jim is worried. He knows his first officer well enough to know when something is wrong. He kind of thought Spock would tell him if something was seriously amiss, but then again, Spock is always reluctant to admit that he doesn’t have everything perfectly under control. Whatever it is, Jim will get answers one way or another.

“Bones?” Jim calls into the empty medbay.

“In here!” He hears the doctor shout from around the corner.

Jim follows the voice into an exam room where Bones is sorting through several large medical reference books and a couple projected screens of scientific jargon that Jim can’t even begin to comprehend. He quickly closes the screens and books when Jim hops up onto the examination table.

“Doing some research?” Jim asks curiously.

“Yeah, sure. Just casually ensuring the well-being of hundreds of people of varying physiologies, no big deal.” He sounds somewhat exasperated as he finishes clearing up, bringing out his datapad and a biometric device with a needle on one end.

Jim begins rolling up his left sleeve to give Bones access to his upper arm and ignores the doctor’s tone of voice. “Hey, is something up with Spock? I ran into him on my way here and he just seemed sort of off to me.”

Bones doesn’t answer for a while, pointedly focusing his attention on the needle entering Jim’s arm. His silence makes Jim anxious. Finally, the doctor takes the needle out and says, “He’ll be fine, Jim, nothing you need to worry about. I don’t want to breach doctor/patient confidentiality so all I’m gonna say is he’s dealing with ‘Vulcan stuff’.”

Jim watches him detach the needle end of the device into a biohazard waste container. “You know I outrank you right? I could kick you off this ship right now. Or just order you to tell me.”

Bones rolls his eyes at the empty threat. “This is _your_ physical examination, Jim, not Spock’s. If you say one more word about the Commander I’m going to declare you unfit for duty. Now shut your trap and let me do my job.”

Jim lets out an exaggerated groan but otherwise does as he’s told. He may not have all the answers he’s looking for, but clearly Bones knows something. This at least confirms that he’s not crazy in thinking that Spock has been acting more strangely than usual. But what the hell could ‘Vulcan stuff’ mean? He guesses whatever it is can’t be too serious if he’s been cleared for the mission. He suddenly feels kind of silly to be worrying so much about Spock when he’s probably just going through the Vulcan equivalent of PMS. It’s not technically any of his business, anyways.

Jim realizes that he’s been spending a lot of his time thinking about Spock when his ship is about to depart on another five-year mission in two days. There’s arguably more pressing issues to attend to, but the worry still eats away at him in the corner of his mind for the rest of his physical. It’s still eating at him even as he steps into the office of Commodore Paris for their meeting later that day.

“Good afternoon, Commodore Paris.” He greets her, automatically straightening his posture. 

“Captain,” She nods, gesturing for him to take a seat in the chair in front of him, “I trust that the Enterprise’s preparations for your next mission are going smoothly?”

He shifts uncomfortably in the seat, not quite able to relax in her presence. “Yes, Commodore, our launch for the day after tomorrow is going as planned.”

“Good. I called you here to discuss a possible assignment for you and your crew after your departure. We don’t usually like to send starships directly into battle once a five-year mission has begun, but the fleet trusts that you will take care of our problem swiftly and without too much trouble.”

“You can count on me, Commodore. Might I ask what the assignment is?”

“A Borg cube was spotted in the Sigma Erandi system a few days ago. We received a distress signal from one of the inhabited planets in the system. Are you familiar with the Borg, Captain?”

“I only know what I’ve read in the history books at Academy, Commodore.”

“The Borg are a group of cybernetic humanoids connected by a neurological hivemind with the primary drive of assimilating other species into the hivemind for their unique capabilities. The Collective, as the hivemind is called, use the technologies of assimilated species to in turn indoctrinate more species into their hive. The fleet hasn’t had many run-ins with them directly, but they have been creeping ever closer into Starfleet territory. I would like the Enterprise to report to the Sigma Erandi system to investigate the Borg and protect the intelligent species that inhabit the system from being brainwashed into their army.”

“Do we know how many of them there are?” Jim sits up in his chair, already beginning to strategize his plan of attack.

Commodore Paris turns to the datapad in front of her and begins scanning various documents. “We know that the Borg often travel in groups of cube-shaped starships, but only one cube has been identified in the system. We have reason to believe that this particular cube is run by a sub-species of Borg that has split from the main Collective. The exact number of Borg aboard the ship is unknown, but because it’s been split it should be much easier to subdue. I’m pulling up the files now which will be sent to you and your first officer.”

He’s on the edge of his seat, trying to contain his eagerness to get back into action. “Thank you, I appreciate the trust you’re putting in me and my crew.” 

Commodore Paris gives him a look that makes him gulp and cautions, “The fleet is still unaware of the exact threat that the Borg pose. Should you encounter greater difficulty than anticipated, I order you and your ship to return to Starbase Yorktown regardless of the consequences to Sigma Erandi. Your primary objective is to gather intelligence. Understood?”

“Yes, Commodore. I won’t let you down.” Jim feels his jaw tense with determination, this is what he’s been training for his whole life.

Paris seems to take note of his attitude and says, “I’m sure that you won’t, Captain. You are dismissed.”

Jim’s first instinct after walking out of Commodore Paris’s office is that he should discuss the upcoming mission with Spock. Unfortunately, after their conversation earlier today, he thinks that’s probably not going to happen. Instead, Jim resigns himself to his apartment to look over the info Paris sent him on his own.

Before he knows it, it’s nearly nine o’clock and he’s been sitting in the same spot at his dining table for hours. He looks up from his datapad to see an eerily quiet, empty room. For a moment, Jim is distracted from his work by the biting sensation of loneliness in his stomach. 

His Starfleet Academy diploma, hanging solitary on the wall, seems to peer down at him with disapproval. Jim has to remind himself what his years of study and service in the fleet are for if it all leads him here, sitting at a table by himself. He’s doing this to save lives, to help those who need him. He hadn’t understood the saying when he was younger, but it certainly is lonely at the top. 

The idea of going out to a bar and picking someone up to bring back to his apartment comes to mind, but Jim doesn’t think the company of a stranger will fill the hole in his chest. Unwilling to let himself wallow in his own personal pity party, he goes straight to his liquor cabinet. It’s not heavily stocked but he finds a half empty bottle of spiced rum that he thinks will solve his problems just fine.

He sits back down at the table, taking a generous swig of rum right from the bottle. Quickly deciding that the time for work is over, he starts swiping through the camera roll on his datapad. He’s usually not the type to take a lot of pictures but when you’re on a ship floating through space for several years you tend to find unconventional ways to pass the time. At first, he’d simply been taking pictures to document the miscellaneous construction projects that would occur on the ship, sometimes repairs after a particularly eventful conflict and sometimes just general structural updates. He swipes through pictures of the Enterprise’s bowels, occasionally coming across a very exasperated-looking Scotty trying his best to keep the ship in one piece as usual.

Eventually, he comes across pictures of the social gatherings they had on the ship every once in a while for special occasions. There are photos of holiday celebrations with the bridge crew, like the few times they remembered that Christmas is a thing. They’d put glowing red emergency flares around the mess hall and tried to explain to the non-humans how people on Earth would give each other gifts and put tinsel on a plant to commemorate a fat, bearded man who sneaks into their houses at night to eat cookies. It had been fun to watch Spock struggle to wrap his mind around that one, and Spock had thought that the Easter bunny and the tooth fairy were illogical.

Eventually, Jim finds pictures of one of the birthday parties they’d thrown for Uhura. It had been a private affair with just their close friends, and they’d replicated a three tiered red velvet cake because they knew it was her favorite. He remembers feeling at home that night, more than he had even when he was growing up in Iowa, because these people truly felt like his family.

He stops abruptly at a picture of them all cozied up in Spock’s quarters, which they’d chosen because he and Uhura were still dating at the time and because it was considerably bigger than Uhura’s quarters. Plates of half-eaten cake are strewn about the room. Jim is in the foreground of the picture with his arm around Bones, who in turn had his arm around Scotty, the three of them mid-laugh and clearly having had a few drinks. In the background, Jim can see Uhura and Spock sitting on the edge of his bed, Uhura leaning into him with one leg over his lap. Her eyes are closed but he can see how happy she is from the grin on her face, one hand resting on Spock’s chest. Spock’s arm is around her shoulder and he’s looking down at her with a look so full of sincere affection that it makes something catch in Jim’s throat.

He stares at the picture for a while with knitted brows, eyes focused on Spock’s. Jim wonders what it would be like to have someone look at him like that, like he was their entire world. Shutting his eyes, he puts himself in Uhura’s place, imagining Spock’s arm around his shoulder while he looks down at Jim with that same fond gaze. He can’t tell if it’s the rum or the fantasy that suddenly makes his chest feel warm and full.

He briefly muses that maybe he should be concerned that he’s fantasizing about his first officer, but he’s a little drunk and comes to the conclusion that he should allow himself this indulgence just this once. Or maybe a few times.

He feeds the fantasy in his head with the memory of the night at the bar when they’d been mock-flirting with each other. Jim can’t help but replay that moment over and over again where Spock looked into his eyes and called him beautiful: “I think you’ll find that I am unable to refuse any offer you make me. After all... it is against my nature not to cherish beauty when I see it.”

He giggles aloud at the idea that he might be crushing on the Commander, because isn’t that kind of funny? Who would’ve guessed that the dashing Captain James T. Kirk has a thing for insufferable, pointy-eared nerds?

Jim drifts off into sleep right there at his dining table, smiling to himself as he dreams of falling into Spock’s adoring eyes.

<><><>

Spock is pulled abruptly from his meditation when he hears a ping from his datapad. He lets out a frustrated sigh, his concentration disrupted, and gets up from where he’d been sitting cross-legged on his bed. 

He picks up his datapad from his bedside table and opens a message from Commodore Paris.

“ _To: Commander Spock, first officer and science officer of the U.S.S. Enterprise_

_From: Commodore Paris, Federation Starfleet officer_

_The fleet has assigned the Enterprise to investigate the sighting of a Borg ship in the Sigma Erandi system as well as the communications received from the system’s fifth planet seeking assistance from the Federation. Below are attached all Federation files regarding the Borg and the Sigma Erandi system. A copy of the communication from Sigma Erandi Planet 5 is also attached._

_I have already discussed your assignment with Captain Kirk and have made clear that this operation is, first and foremost, for gathering information on the Borg. I expect a full report on the encounter upon termination of the Enterprise’s venture in Sigma Erandi._

_[3 Downloadable Files Detected]”_

Spock clicks on the file links, slightly alarmed that the fleet is having them go on an assignment so early into their mission. He’d been hoping he would have at least a week before he needed to truly report for duty. 

After several minutes scrolling through the files from the Commodore, Spock feels a growing uneasiness inside of him. It appears that the fleet’s knowledge of the Borg is limited, which makes their upcoming journey entirely unpredictable. Spock despises the unpredictable. More than that, however, he despises the idea that Jim might need him while he’s incapacitated by his pon farr. Scenarios play out in Spock’s mind of the Captain getting injured or worse while he remains in his quarters, helpless to do anything.

He has to set his datapad down for a moment because his hands are beginning to shake. No, he will not accept the possibility of letting Jim be put in danger without being there to protect him. The notion of living with himself if Jim was hurt, knowing he could have done something to stop it, is unbearable. He would rather die.

His rage and fear are intensified by the beginnings of pon farr that course through his veins and his fists clench involuntarily. Spock clenches harder until he feels the sting of pierced skin and the warm pool of blood on his fingers, using the pain to focus his mind. Within minutes, he’s managed to suppress his earlier fervor and return to a more realistic mindset. The severity with which his emotions overcame him is frightening, he wasn’t aware he could feel anything so strongly. It seems that a lot of his feelings with respect to his Captain are a surprise to him.

After going to the bathroom and watching his dark green blood swirl down the drain, he returns to his bed and takes up his meditation position again. Legs crossed, back straight, and hands resting with palms raised on his knees, he closes his eyes and begins to slow his breathing and heart rate. He eases gradually into his mindspace, letting the physical world around him fall from his perception.

He awakens mentally into a wide expanse of red. The ground beneath his feet takes on the rough, gritty texture of Vulcan’s surface and the sky above him is an even shade of scarlet. Every time he enters his mindspace, the sight of his lost home planet brings a momentary sorrow, but each time weaker than the last. While a majority of his mindspace resembles the great, towering structures of Vulcan’s municipalities, it blends seamlessly with another section of his mind resembling the clean white halls of the Enterprise.

Spock doesn’t walk so much as float effortlessly in the direction of the Enterprise-shaped region, letting his intuition guide him. The halls are winding and twisting, sometimes spiraling upside down and sometimes damaged and scarred by phaser blasts. As he travels, memories of his experiences on the Enterprise drift in and out of focus in his mind like he’s looking through a spinning kaleidoscope. 

The memories become increasingly turbulent when he enters an area mirroring the bridge room, and all of the tense moments he’s had here surround him. He notices the foreboding green mist that simmers about the edges of the room, recognizing it as his oncoming pon farr. He knows that when it reaches its summit, the green mist will become a smoke that fills his lungs and eyes with his basest instincts.

For now, he’s able to fight through both his memories and the mist to find himself in another chamber of his mental ship. Tucked away in a corner of his consciousness is a room simultaneously shaped like the Captain’s quarters and a hospital room and what looks like a Terran child’s bedroom. The picture shifts before him, but he can make out a bed with standard Starfleet bedding, a vital signs monitor beeping intermittently off to the side, and a small bookshelf filled with books and toys that’s pushed up against the right wall.

The scene is not familiar to him except for the warmth that his projects. He’s flooded with sensations of comfort when the smell of dark liquor reaches him, and he immediately knows that this room represents Jim. 

He was unaware of it, but it seems as though he and Jim have been gradually cultivating a telepathic bond over the past few years. The bond is still in its infancy, but the weak connection that Spock senses here is enough to settle his unease. He glides about the room, examining its facets with wondrous fascination, in awe of even this tiny glimpse into Jim’s psyche.

Suddenly, he senses the cloud of pon farr seeping into the room and it nearly sends him into a panic. It’s presence is a grave reminder that should Spock strengthen or manage to form a complete telepathic bond with Jim, his pon farr will be transferred between them and Jim will have to undergo the painful process as well. Spock knows he must protect against this at all costs, so he withdraws from the room and builds up a fortified door in front of it. With a considerable amount of concentration, he places a heavy lock upon the door, a symbol of his doubts and fears that anything might threaten this piece of the one he holds dear. He’s not sure how well his mental shield will hold but it should suffice for the time being.

Spock rouses from his meditative state breathing heavily, his heart racing. Sweat has beaded on his forehead and soaked his shirt clean through. Somehow his meditation has only made him feel worse.

The stakes of his pon farr have just heightened drastically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i took some liberties with the alt universe canon so that Starfleet is already marginally aware of the Borg even though i think that's a next generation thing idk. i tried my best to do research! also i really appreciate all of your comments and criticisms <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait folks, i moved into my dorm the other day and am now enjoying that amazing quarantine-college life. thanks for your patience and kudos <3

Jim Kirk wakes up the next morning with his cheek stuck to his dining table with drool. His head is pounding something fierce and it takes a minute for him to become aware of his surroundings. He yawns, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and trying to swallow the bitter taste out of his mouth. Looking up, wincing at the soreness in his neck, he finds his datapad and an empty bottle of rum in front of him. 

Did he really drink the entire rest of the bottle last night? Why exactly had he done that? He’s slightly regretful of his tendency to use alcohol as a coping mechanism at the moment, but he knows as soon as the hangover fades he’ll probably do it again. Maybe he should start seriously considering the free Alcoholics Anonymous program offered by the fleet.

He stretches and turns on his datapad. When he opens it up he almost jumps at the sight. Memories from last night come flooding back to him as he sees the picture he’d been staring at for so long that it’s now etched into his mind. 

He’d been thinking about Spock last night. He’d been thinking about Spock in  _ that  _ kind of way last night. Even worse, he’d  _ liked _ thinking about Spock in that way.

Jim quickly gets up out of his chair and starts pacing back and forth across the room, his thoughts spinning out of control. It’s been a long time since Jim has let himself have feelings for anyone considering that it doesn’t usually work out too well in his line of work. But these feelings slipped into his house in the middle of the night and attacked him in his sleep, that’s how sudden they came on. For fuck’s sake, he’s caught feelings for his first officer no less.

Running his fingers through his hair anxiously, he tries to convince himself that it was just meaningless, drunk, lonely thoughts that had led him here. But he knows better than most that feelings he has while he’s drunk are usually more honest than the ones he has when he’s sober. This does nothing to ease his frantic mindset, and he tries to take a deep breath for a moment.

At the very least, he’s not surprised that he’s attracted to men. Sure, he’s always been more inclined towards females when it comes to one night stands and recurring hookups, but those few guys he experimented with in academy definitely meant something. I mean, if he really took a look at Spock then he needed no explanation for the sexual desire there. Attraction to men is not an issue as far as Jim is concerned, but having genuine feelings for someone is an entirely different matter.

Jim has been very careful to never be on the receiving end of heartbreak. He’s broken a lot of hearts in his day and he’s not exactly proud of it, but he can’t help that part of him is terrified of being the one who gets hurt. The idea of wanting someone and giving all of himself to them just to be cast aside is painful. He has no clue how to handle rejection because he hasn’t let himself be rejected in the first place.

But Spock... Maybe he’s different. Jim has truly never felt the kind of trust he has for Spock with anyone else. Spock is a solid anchor in a whirlpool of violent waters that he’s been clinging to. He can’t see himself living in a world without him. He knows deep down, better than he knows anything else, that Spock really cares for him. But does he care for him in the same way that he cares for Spock? He’s not sure if their connection of trust makes him more or less likely to be hurt.

He plops back down into his seat at the table and puts his head in his hands. His head is pounding from more than just a hangover now. He should have done that thing that Spock did for him before and taken pain meds before he passed out last night. That had worked like a dream the morning after his night at the bar. If only that didn’t make him start thinking about Spock all over again.

It hurts just a little bit more because he knows Spock has been avoiding him recently. Perhaps Spock knew about Jim’s feelings even before Jim did and is trying to distance himself as some sad form of rejection.

Jim groans into his hands and wishes he weren’t acting like a pubescent schoolboy right now. He’s the goddamn captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise, a legend known throughout the galaxy. Yet, here he is, hungover and lamenting his hopeless crush. He doesn’t have time to sit here and feel sorry for himself. Besides, Spock hasn’t given him a definite ‘no’.

He takes a couple more deep breaths and waits for his heart to stop beating so fast. There’s determination in the set of his jaw as he gets up from the table because there are people out there that need him. His ship is leaving tomorrow and he’s already been given an assignment with possible lives at stake. 

Most of the morning has already passed according to the clock on the wall, and Jim is eager to get back to work. His apartment has accumulated a general aura of desperation that makes him want to leave as soon as possible. So, after recycling the empty rum bottle and putting on his uniform, he heads out to oversee the preparation of the Enterprise for its imminent departure, purposefully avoiding the thought of Spock.

<><><>

Spock has suffered yet another sleepless night, but it doesn’t keep him from departing early that morning for the small Vulcan neighborhood near the edge of the residential quadrant. 

The side of the neighborhood that is closest to the center of the base is the site he’d chosen for the memorial. Though it’s not as often visited as other parts of Yorktown, it’s quieter and closer to the small population of Vulcans that are more likely to spend time there. However, he still hopes that non-Vulcans might also visit the memorial occasionally out of respect or even curiosity. He finds it rewarding that while he may not be back on Starbase Yorktown for a considerable amount of time, there will be a piece of him here in the form of this memorial.

He made certain that construction would be completed today before he has to leave for his next mission. Spock arrives at the site as a construction drone is placing a pillar on the Vulcan-style temple that encloses the memorial. The building is the size of a normal townhouse with rounded peaks for a roof. The sides are broken up by small semicircular windows that are designed to create a dimly lit interior.

“Mr.Spock!” the contractor spots him and strides up to him, “So glad to see you! The temple’s concrete supports have been placed and now we’re adding the ceramic shell around them. I dare say we’ll be finished by the early afternoon.”

“I should hope so, Mr. Cravidor,” Spock looks fondly at the culmination of all his work, “I certainly appreciate your help.”

Mr. Cravidor nods solemnly, “Of course, of course. It’s the least I can do, really. The loss of your planet was such a sad business, I hate to see it.”

Spock detects a lack of sincerity in the contractor’s words but refrains from commenting. He supposes that he can’t expect a non-Vulcan to feel as strongly as he does about the destruction of his home planet. However, it insights a small flame of annoyance inside him.

Seemingly oblivious of his silence, Mr. Cravidor continues, “I did a job some years ago with a Vulcan on Starbase Alexandria. A fine man, to be sure, but not much of a comedian, if you know what I mean. Dry as the deserts of Vulcan, I’ll say.” He chuckles at his own joke.

Spock frowns slightly, the annoyance growing larger with each passing second. He tries his best to tamp down the irritation in his voice as he says, “Vulcans tend to be unfamiliar with nonliteral humor.”

“Indeed. Regardless, I feel it’s only my duty to provide my services to such a generous cause. You know, I’m well known for my acts of charity-”

Something in Spock snaps and suddenly he’s holding the contractor up by his shirtfront, “The last thing I need is your  _ pity _ , Mr. Cravidor. My people are not your  _ charity case _ and I take grave offense that you consider this memorial to millions of deceased loved ones as simply a boost to your ego. Might I remind you that you’ve been hired by the committee and are being paid for your services, but I would be happy to change that if you are as tremendously  _ generous _ as you say you are.”

Mr. Cravidor is shivering in his tight grip, his feet barely grazing the floor. Spock looks into his petrified face and something in him is pleased at the fear in the man’s eyes. To have someone completely at his mercy is exhilarating.

His fury only subsides when he spots several Vulcans passing by who stop to give him disapproving looks. The bitter feeling of shame rises in him again and he quickly releases the contractor, who stumbles and mutters a string of apologies. But Spock isn’t listening, all he knows is that he’s let his emotions overcome him once again. The primal rage of pon farr is continuing to multiply by the day and despite how much time he’s been spending trying to keep it at bay, it’s still spilling out at the slightest provocation. 

“My apologies, Mr. Cravidor,” he says numbly, still shocked by his own outburst, “please continue about your business.”

He thinks it best to vacate the area and wait until he’s calmed down before coming back to oversee construction. The remnants of his anger still lay just under the surface and he can feel it in the tense set of his shoulders. He carries it with him as he walks and he tries his best to ignore his general discomfort.

According to his datapad, there are several medicinal markets in the commercial section of the base. He’s not sure whether they will carry the type of Vulcan medication that he’s looking for considering technological innovations from Vulcan are rarely approved for mass production off-planet. But it’s his best option right now, unless he wants to try meditating for several more hours to no avail.

He stops at several Federation Pharmacy’s only to leave disappointed. However, considering the lengthy Federation drug approval process, it’s likely it hasn’t been authorized for widespread sale yet. Spock stops by each pharmacy anyways, just to be sure.

The last place that Spock visits is a small shop on the far side of the commercial district with the words “Yorktown Drug Emporium” written in flickering neon lights above the storefront. Based on its unfavorable location on Yorktown and its overall ramshackle appearance, Spock guesses that this location may be less reliable in terms of medicinal quality. However, it may be more likely to have what he’s looking for.

As he opens the door, a bell hanging from the ceiling jingles to alert the shopkeeper of his presence. The small store is filled with several rows of closely packed shelves displaying bottles, bags, and boxes of all kinds. While the items are recognizably some type of medicine, a number of the labels are written in alien languages that Spock is unfamiliar with. 

A flash of blue pokes out from behind the counter at the back of the store and a kind-looking Bolian man welcomes him, “Good morning, sir. How may I help you? Are you looking for anything in particular?”

Spock quickly glances about the shop and is relieved to find that he’s the only customer. He walks up to the counter and asks, “Do you, by any chance, happen to carry Vulcan medicines?”

The man raises an eyebrow, “What kind of medicine did you have in mind?”

Spock hesitates for a moment before saying, “I’m looking for a medication designed to treat neurochemical imbalances in Vulcans. I believe it is most commonly sold in capsules.”

He eyes Spock’s Starfleet uniform skeptically, rubbing his hands together nervously. “I think I know the particular drug that you’re describing, sir, but if I remember correctly it’s not Federation approved.”

Spock frowns, a slight intonation of desperation in his voice, “That seems to be the case, considering I’ve been to every single Federation Pharmacy on base and none of them sell the medication I am in search of.”

“It seems you’re very much in need of this drug, no?” the man notes, “My shop here sells quite a number of things that you won’t be able to find in a Federation Pharmacy.” Spock doesn’t recognize it at first, but there’s a subtext to the man’s statement that suggests that the shop might be selling non-approved medicines.

Spock then pulls a credit card from his back pocket and places it deliberately on the counter in front of him. He leans in slightly as he pleads, “I am willing to pay handsomely.”

The corners of the Bolian’s mouth turn up in a wicked grin at the sight of Spock’s fleet-issued card, the Starfleet symbol on the front glittering in the fluorescent lighting. “Excuse me a second while I go check in the back.”

“Of course.” Spock replies with a relieved sigh, watching the man turn and walk through a door behind the counter labeled ‘STAFF’.

Spock briefly looks over his shoulder through the storefront window to make sure no one is watching. He tries his best to regulate his breathing and settle the nervous energy buzzing through his veins. He’s not usually one to use illegal methods to solve his problems, but this may be worth the moral sacrifice. However, he’s never been arrested before and he hopes to refrain from the experience anytime soon. Satisfied that he’s still alone, he waits patiently at the counter while shuffling noises emanate from the half-open ‘STAFF’ door. A white lab coat hangs on the wall beside the door displaying a name tag on the chest pocket reading “Hidar”, which Spock assumes belongs to the Bolian man.

After several more agonizing seconds, Hidar emerges carrying a dark green pill bottle with white Vulcan lettering on the side. 

“Is this the medication you were looking for?”

Spock takes the bottle and studies the label carefully. It very closely resembles the ingredients and description of what he remembers taking on Vulcan during his first pon farr. There are several ingredients he doesn’t immediately recognize, but the active ingredient is the same and that satisfies him.

“Yes, thank you, this will do. How much do I owe you?”

Hidar puts a finger on his chin and contemplates, “Well, Vulcan medicines are pretty hard to come by, I’m sure you know. This one in particular was produced originally on Vulcan, and you know that’s especially rare.”

Spock quickly holds out his card, knowing that he has plenty of credit accumulated in his account after years of frugal saving, “The cost is of no importance to me.”

The transaction proceeds smoothly after that, and soon Spock is walking briskly out of the drug shop attempting to appear as though he didn’t just purchase black market drugs. Thankfully, no one seems to pay attention to the nondescript white bag he carries closely at his side.

Before returning to his apartment and taking a pill, Spock suspects that it would be beneficial to have a capsule analyzed by Bones to ensure that it hasn’t been laced with anything dangerous. However, he’s sure that Bones is quite busy today with preparation for their launch tomorrow. He’s debating with himself on his way to the residential sector just how much trust he’s willing to put in Hidar and his “Yorktown Drug Emporium”.

Deep in thought, he nearly collides with a woman walking in the other direction. He stops short of running into her and an angry hiss escapes his lips. The woman, immediately frightened, quickly moves out of his way and practically sprints in the opposite direction.

It might be wise to take the drug now before his symptoms get worse.

After arriving at his apartment, Spock gulps a pill down with a mouthful of water and retreats to his bedroom to meditate. Within 15 minutes, Spock is pleased to already feel the tension and heat in his veins gradually subsiding. However, he also begins to feel the side effects that the label warned him of, his mind becoming dizzy and unfocused. Taking into account that, at the very least, nothing contained in the medication has killed him, Spock readily accepts the side effects in exchange for the suppression of his pon farr symptoms.

For the first time in a long time, he’s able to meditate peacefully without difficulty.

<><><>

Later that day, Spock heads back towards the memorial to find it largely complete. Mr. Cravidor pales at the sight of him but seems to work up the courage to approach him.

“You’re just in time for the finishing touches, Mr.Spock,” the contractor leads him towards the rust-colored, chapel-shaped building, “we’re just doing a sweep of the interior.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cravidor,” Spock pauses, hoping that his expression relays an apology for his earlier behavior, “the memorial is precisely as I envisioned. If it’s alright with you, I’d like to examine it on my own.”

Mr. Cravidor seems to ease up slightly, nodding politely, “Of course, take your time.”

The temple’s peak catches the light and adorns the structure with a warm halo. His mind is still somewhat hazy from the drug, making it easy for him to slip into his memories as he walks up to the memorial. He imagines that he’s a younger version of himself, back on Vulcan, walking through the intricate network of buildings in the city. It’s almost as if he’s coming home after a long time away.

The room inside has a simple circular configuration with five pedestals spread in a ring facing the entrance. Each pedestal is a basic column topped with a touchpad, about waist height. The placement of each of the five windows produces a ray of light that illuminates the general direction of each of the pedestals. Because it’s just after midday, the rays strike just left of the center of each touchpad.

Spock waits patiently for the worker vacuuming the floor to finish and leave before walking up to the central pedestal. He holds his hand out in a  _ ta’al _ , letting it hover above the touchpad for a moment and holding his breath as well. Spock hesitates, as though he doesn’t know exactly what’s going to happen when his palm hits the glass. For a second he’s even nervous, like the wiring will spontaneously malfunction and he’ll have to spend the next 10 hours trying to get it working again.

When he finally allows his hand to drop onto the touchpad, his vision is filled by a soft green hologram reading, “May the legacy of those lost live long and prosper.” He immediately lets out a sigh of relief.

Spock is unsure exactly how long he stands in the memorial, gazing intently into his mother’s face. All he knows is that her image soothes him, slowly healing a wound inside of him he wasn’t aware he had. The emotional whirlwind of the past few days ultimately catches up to him and his eyes begin to water. In this moment, he can say for certain he has never missed anyone as much in his life as he misses his mother now.

The sudden flood of emotions indicates to him that perhaps he has not properly overcome the grieving process, especially in the case of his mother. His grief combined with the haziness of the drug, along with the mostly suppressed wrath of his pon farr, leaves him short of breath. 

Too soon, the room’s emptiness begins closing in around him and he has to say goodbye to his mother’s ghost that’s being projected from the pedestal. She fades away and he’s on his own again. He leaves the memorial more determined to end his pon farr one way or another, before he loses anyone else.

<><><>

Jim wakes up the morning of the Enterprise’s launch with more energy than he’s had in days. He feels like a little schoolboy all over again, giddy with excitement and ready for an adventure. 

Looking around his apartment for the last time, he realizes not a single part of him is going to miss it. He may have spent the better part of three months here, but never once did it really feel like home to him. How can it possibly compare to the gleaming decks of the U.S.S. Enterprise? The ship is his home more than anywhere else.

He slings his duffle bag over his shoulder and shouts, “Kirk out!” into the room before shutting the door behind him.

While he won’t be missing his apartment, he knows he’ll miss Starbase Yorktown a little. As he walks towards the base’s hangar, he keeps a leisurely pace so he can admire the towering buildings and the throng of civilization. It might be a while before he sees rows of shops and restaurants again. 

“Keptin!”

Jim turns to see Ensign Chekov jogging towards him, the young navigator’s face beaming with anticipation. He slows to let Chekov catch up. “Ensign, it’s great to see you! You ready for our mission?”

Chekov nods enthusiastically, “Yez! I hev heard a rumour zat ve already hev an assignment?” Jim swears that if the ensign was a puppy, his tail would be wagging right now.

“You shouldn’t listen to rumours, Ensign,” he says with a laugh, “but I can neither confirm nor  _ deny  _ that particular rumour.”

His eyes light up. “Does zat mean yez? Zat must mean yez! Keptin, please tell me-”

“Alright, Chekov, do you think maybe you can wait until the briefing tomorrow? Let’s just take care of our departure for right now.” Jim cuts him off but can’t help from smiling, the ensign’s attitude is infectious.

Jim notices that the viewing window just outside of the hangar already has a growing crowd of people, and he’s especially pleased to see that quite a few of the students he’s interacted with on base have come to see the launch. Part of him wonders how many of them will actually make it onto the bridge of a starship, but he’s still hopeful. He waves at the crowd before he and Chekov walk through the hangar doors.

The Enterprise, technically the U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701-A if he wants to get into specifics, takes up a large portion of the hangar. Its massive form is imposing, but Jim only has eyes for the cockpit window near the front of the ship. He’ll be up there soon with his crew.

A crewman approaches him and Chekov to take their bags and have them sent up to their quarters. The launch is starting to feel a lot more real all of a sudden.

Lieutenant Sulu is the next bridgemember that Jim meets and he joins him and Chekov in the turbolift as they ascend to the top of the ship. The loneliness that was biting at him while on base is slowly fading with each familiar face he sees. He feels regretful that he didn’t reach out to more of the crew sooner. Based on their friendly expressions, however, they took no offense to his silence.

“Captain, it’s great to be back. I’m looking forward to our next mission.” Sulu greets him.

“I’m looking forward to being your captain, Lieutenant.” he replies, really meaning it.

The ride up to the bridge is spent in casual conversation, and Jim feels the set of his shoulders relaxing. He doesn’t realize that he’s nervous about returning to his position on the ship until the screen on the wall of the turbolift starts counting ever closer to the top. Something catches in his throat that he can’t seem to swallow. 

Now is not the time for pre-launch jitters, especially for him, the goddamn captain of the starship. He can only hope that everything goes smoothly on their mission, but in the case that it doesn’t, it certainly wouldn’t be the first time that he’s been in a life or death scenario. If he can defeat Krall and survive severe radiation poisoning, then there really isn’t much he can’t handle. 

He looks to each side, Chekov and Sulu clearly steeling themselves up for what’s to come, and is reminded that he’s not alone on the bridge. Just the knowledge that such accomplished, competent people are there to support him is enough to ease some of his worries. 

The doors of the turbolift finally slide open to reveal expectant faces turning to look at him. As soon as he takes his first step onto the bridge, the first after three months, something clicks in his brain and part of the confidence and self-assurity that he constantly relies on as Captain comes back to him. He’s here to lead them, to make the hard decisions, and they need him as much as he needs them.

The crew breaks out into light applause at his arrival, and Jim warms at the sight of Uhura, Bones, and Spock standing at the ready. Part of him shrinks away at Spock’s presence and part of him gravitates towards him like a magnet. He tries his best to control his conflicting emotions, hoping for the moment that it won’t affect his performance. The feeling of butterflies in his stomach is strange but not entirely unbearable. For now, though, he has other things to worry about.

“Let’s get this show on the road, folks!” Jim hops onto the captain’s chair, sinking into it comfortably like he never left it at all. The main window shows a bird’s eye view of Yorktown’s hangar, the workers below looking like ants from where he sits. He feels like a king taking a seat at his throne.

The bridge crew man their respective stations, running diagnostics and checking that everything is working perfectly. Jim waits for several more tests to be run on the ship’s systems, glad that the results all come up as normal. He takes this moment to settle back into this place he’s come to think of as home. A glance to the right reveals Spock at his shoulder and Jim is happy to have him by his side again. His face is unreadable right now, but Jim is sure there must be some kind of emotion behind his blank face.

Spock meets his eyes and Jim gives him a shy smile. He doesn’t remember those dark eyes staring so deeply into him before. It leaves him feeling open and vulnerable. He’s about to say something when the image of Commodore Paris appears on the window in front of them. 

“Greetings to you, Captain Kirk, and to the crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise.”

Jim stiffens in his chair, “Thank you, Commodore Paris.”

Her stare is stony as she asks, “Are all systems fully functioning?”

Sulu looks over his shoulder and gives Jim an affirming nod.

“Yes, Commodore, all systems are a go.”

The suggestion of a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, “Then, on behalf of Starfleet, you are clear for takeoff.”

Jim feels a weight lift off his shoulders at her words, and he relaxes when she vanishes from the screen. This is really happening then. He’s been waiting three long months for this moment.

His crew looks at him attentively as he presses the ship-wide comm button, “This is your captain speaking, we’ve just been cleared for takeoff. I look forward to working with each and every one of you on this next mission and have full faith that you will serve me admirably. Thank you, Kirk out.”

He hopes his words will bolster the morale of his crew as they head into the unknown. Jim is sure that many of them are just as eager as they are anxious. They have a long journey ahead of them.

“Ensign Chekov, please set our target for the Sigma Erandi system.”

He grins over his shoulder at Jim, “Yez, Keptin.”

“Lieutenant Sulu, start the engines and bring us up in the air whenever you’re ready.”

A soft hum begins to rumble under Jim’s feet as the engines turn on and it almost feels like the ship is waking up from a deep slumber. They all feel a sudden jolt as the Enterprise lifts off the ground, a feeling of weightlessness hitting Jim’s stomach for a second.

“Go ahead and guide us out of the hangar, now.” he commands, watching the door at the end of the tunnel open up and reveal a deep black square of space. The anticipation of their gradual approach towards space makes his heart race. Jim grips the armrests to keep his hands from shaking.

He starts when he feels a hand on his right shoulder. Jim finds Spock there, looking down at him with an expression that says more than Jim can understand. There’s a tension in the interaction that makes the butterflies in his stomach more erratic. Regardless, the touch is reassuring. Maybe Spock noticed his growing unease.

Jim is startled again when a rush of calm washes over him, as if it’s been pushed into his mind by an outside force. He glances quickly at Spock’s hand and looks back up at him to see a corner of his mouth upturned in the hint of a smile. Spock seems to be sending emotions to him telepathically. 

At first, Jim is unsure how to feel about his first officer being inside his head, but the wave of calm is so comforting that he welcomes it readily. Before he can stop it, he feels himself reaching out to Spock with a surge of gratitude. He knows Spock feels it because he hurriedly takes his hand from Jim’s shoulder, his eyebrows raised. Even Jim is surprised by his mental gesture, and he wonders how he instinctively knew how to communicate telepathically.

Jim looks around and is relieved that no one was able to see what just occurred between them. He tries to hide the color in his cheeks but he’s sure that Spock can see it. Jim tries to avoid looking at Spock again but manages to catch sight of color in the commander’s cheeks as well. 

While it only lasted mere seconds, Jim feels as though something intimate has passed between them. Was that like the equivalent of holding hands mentally? A telepathic kiss even? Jesus Christ, they were in each other’s heads for a minute there, he’s not sure how much closer two people can get.

He’s distracted from his thoughts when the Enterprise finally exits the base and the entire viewing window is taken up by a starry expanse. It’s stunning, the way rainbow galaxies flow past them, and Jim will never get tired of it. He knows that if he were to look behind them, he’d see the starbase shrink into the distance. They’re on their own now.

Although he makes every attempt to put the telepathic encounter with Spock out of his head, he still senses a faint whisper of Spock’s presence in the back of his mind. Somehow, it makes him feel less alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i genuinely can't wait for things to get spicy i hope you guys like it lol


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not sure how many of you aren't here for the intimate scenes but maybe skip the first couple sections or just be warned that this chapter gets a little hot and heavy if that's not your thing :)))

_ Jim sits alone in the captain’s chair on the bridge, the viewing window at the front of the room is a solid shade of deep red which casts the room in a rosy glow. There’s a wispy green mist that swirls about the corners of the room. He feels like he should be concerned about whether or not it’s some kind of noxious gas, but for some reason he’s perfectly calm. _

_ What is he doing here? Wasn’t he supposed to be on a mission? Where is everyone? He’s confused, but the warmth of the room is making his thoughts muddled in an almost pleasant way. Whatever it is that he’s supposed to be doing right now, it’s obviously not important anymore. How can he be worried when everything is so peaceful? _

_ He hears the doors of the turbolift open and looks over his shoulder to see Spock walk onto the bridge. Jim is immediately overjoyed at the sight of him, relieved to have some company. He’s especially relieved that the company is Spock, of course. Just the sight of him is enough to ease the tension in his shoulders. _

_ Spock says nothing as he comes to stand in front of Jim’s chair. He’s looking down at Jim intently with something in his gaze that sends a shiver down his spine. Spock has been making him feel so exposed lately with just a simple look. At the moment, Jim doesn’t particularly mind it. For once he can put his walls down around another person without being afraid, without being cautious. _

_ “Spock, what are you...” Jim trails off when Spock’s hand reaches up to caress his cheek. The touch is soft and hot, hot even for a Vulcan. But it doesn’t burn, it’s the kind of heat that Jim might feel if a ray of sun shined directly onto his face. He savors the caress, basking in the rare feeling of Spock’s physical touch. _

_ The look that Spock is giving him is making Jim’s cheeks color, like he’s a rare gemstone that Spock is appraising. Or maybe he’s an exquisite work of art that Spock is trying to decipher the meaning of. Whatever it is, Jim is enjoying finally having the spotlight of his attention after weeks of avoidance. He wishes he could have Spock’s attention every second of every day until the day he dies. No one else makes him feel so treasured. _

_ A gasp escapes his mouth as Spock traces a finger along his jawline and stops just under his chin to tilt his head up slightly. Just the tip of his finger makes Jim tremble, and not in an uncomfortable way. He feels paralyzed in his seat, unable to move or do anything except return Spock’s gaze. _

_ Spock leans down until he’s inches from Jim’s face. His breath tickles Jim’s lips and suddenly he thinks he might go crazy if he doesn’t close the distance between them. The closeness is intoxicating in a way that no drink or drug has ever made Jim feel. It’s exhilarating. _

_ Before he can do anything, Spock turns Jim’s head to the side with his finger and leans further to press his nose against the pulse in Jim’s neck. The brush of Spock’s lips against his skin makes Jim’s head spin and his eyelids flutter. He’s having trouble forming coherent thoughts. All he knows is that there’s blood rushing to the spot between his legs. He’s never been this close to Spock before. He smells like spices and earth.  _

_ Spock gets a better grip on Jim’s face by gently cupping his jaw, his other hand reaching behind Jim to grip the back of the chair. The tip of Spock’s nose grazes his earlobe and a low moan hums in the back of Jim’s throat. He tries to move in closer to Spock’s touch, but Jim’s jaw is still firmly secured in his grip.  _

_ Maybe it’s the atmosphere of the room, or maybe it’s something else, but Jim is absolutely putty in Spock’s hands. He would let Spock do anything to him in this moment, nothing would be wrong because everything feels so right. He  _ wants  _ Spock to do things to him. _

_ Their eyes meet again and the look that Spock gives him now is hungry with desire. Jim feels like delicious looking prey, both of them waiting for Spock to finally pounce. The air is thick with an anticipation that makes it hard for Jim to breathe evenly, he’s just itching to bring their lips and bodies together. His heart is close to beating straight out of his chest. _

_ Spock is towering over him now, and he would be trapping Jim in his seat if Jim had any intention of getting up, which he doesn’t. He’s never found Spock frightening, but his predatory gaze and heavy breathing are intimidating in a way that excites all the nerves in Jim’s body. He’s also never been one to back down from a challenge, and he certainly won’t now.  _

_ Jim keeps his upper half still but spreads his legs just a few inches farther apart, suggestively inviting Spock to fill the space between them. It also clearly displays the growing bulge in Jim’s pants. Spock’s nostrils flare and he lets out a deep growl that Jim can feel reverberate through his chest. Seeing the way that Spock reacts to him is electrifying and Jim wants to tease him over and over again. _

_ His eyes are drawn to the tip of Spock’s tongue that swipes across his bottom lip. Jim immediately fixates on Spock’s mouth and everything that crosses his mind afterwards just makes his face burn hotter. Spock has barely touched him and he’s still losing his mind. _

_ Spock’s gaze runs up and down Jim’s body so intensely that Jim swears that Spock’s hands are actually on him. He shifts in his seat restlessly, trying anything at all to relieve the insatiable craving for touch. _

_ Then Spock is crouching lower and lower until his face is level with Jim’s hips. Jim holds his breath. Spock is looking up at Jim like he’s about to devour him, but he’s going to make it slow and agonizing. Jim can barely stop himself from begging for it so he pleads with his eyes instead. _

_ “Spock-” Jim chokes on his name when Spock’s hands suddenly grip his inner thighs. His fingers dig in just a little and the pressure simultaneously satisfies Jim’s desire and makes him ache for so much more. He’s never been teased so much in his life. _

_ The sight of Spock mere inches from his crotch is doing wild things to Jim’s brain. He genuinely can’t focus on anything besides how badly he wants Spock to touch him.  _

_ “Captain...” he purrs. Somehow, the way that Spock says his title makes Jim even more turned on. Good god, he’s seeing his first officer in a completely different way now. The warmth of Spock’s breath against his groin is more than Jim knows how to handle. _

_ Spock’s hands inch inwards agonizingly slow. Jim is close to crying out from how much he needs Spock right now, his hands gripping the armrests with all his strength, but then he notices that the green mist is enveloping them both. The last thing that Jim sees is the longing in Spock’s gaze before his vision goes dark. _

<><><>

Jim sits up abruptly in his quarters, sweat making his bed sheets stick to his bare skin. He waits for his heart rate to reach a calm, even pace and wipes the back of his hand across his forehead. The clock on his nightstand tells him it’s 6:45 am, fifteen minutes before his alarm is supposed to go off.

Fuck, he hasn’t had a dream like that in years, and the dreams he usually has go a lot farther than that one did. But that didn’t stop it from being insanely hot. Things must be getting serious if he’s starting to  _ dream  _ about Spock. He’s in deep, he knows that much.

He feels his face getting warm at the memory of his dream last night. Jim groans and puts his head in his hands, feeling confused and embarrassed and still a little horny. It was a damn good dream, he’s not going to lie, but he’s going to have to shove it into the back corner of his mind if he wants to be able to act like a normal human being for the next few days. How the hell is he going to face Spock today after something like that?

He’s baffled for a moment when he remembers the green mist that pervaded his dream. Why was that there? Does it mean anything? Should he be worried? It was just a minor detail, though, and most dreams don’t make sense, anyways. That was definitely not the most memorable part of the dream.

The last thing he needs right now is a distraction. They’re days away from an encounter with the Borg and he needs all of his attention to be on the task at hand. His crew is depending on him, not to mention that this could mean survival or extinction for whatever alien race inhabits Sigma Erandi. God knows what he’s about to face out there.

But Jesus, it certainly wouldn’t hurt anyone to be distracted for at least the next few minutes, right? It’s been a while since he’s had any bedroom action or even had a private moment to himself, and he’s becoming increasingly aware of his erection that refuses to leave.

It’s not hard for his mind to start replaying the fantasy again, but it feels strange to be willingly indulging in his feelings for Spock.

To be fair, it’s not exactly the first time he’s imagined having sex with Spock. As someone who’s had a considerable amount of sexual experience with all kinds of people, he sometimes envisions what intimacy would look like with people he interacts with on a daily basis out of curiosity more than actual desire. He’s always felt like the way a person acts in the bedroom is just another facet of their personality. Envisioning it is just a way to get to know people better.

In those rare times where he tried to imagine what sharing a bed with Spock would be like, it was mechanical and passionless. It just didn’t seem possible for Spock to be capable of sensuality or anything that would make sex more than vanilla. 

His opinions have changed recently, not just from his dream last night, though. Spock has an attentiveness and persistence that applies to everything he does, which no doubt includes the bedroom. Not to mention that he has that whole telepathy thing that probably clues him into his partner’s every turn on and kink. Is it weird that he’s thinking about this so thoroughly?

He stops worrying about what he should or shouldn’t be thinking about because it feels so fucking good and what does it really matter when no one’s getting hurt? So, he slips a hand under the waistband of his boxers and imagines it’s Spock’s hand that’s stroking him.

<><><>

It takes a few seconds for Spock to awaken from his deep dreamstate. He’d been lucid enough to remain aware of his unconsciousness, but it had been much harder for him to control his urges while in his mindspace.

Spock had gone to see Bones the other day to have the medication analyzed, and after being thoroughly reprimanded for taking suspicious drugs without going to the doctor first, he’d learned that nothing in it is harmful but that he should be careful with it because it contains a mild tranquilizer. It seems that the medication is relieving his symptoms while he’s awake but his pon farr is still taking control over his unconscious mental processes. His baser instincts seem to be coping with his excessive hormones by playing out sexual fantasies in his head.

Finally coming back to his senses, he’s having trouble focusing on anything besides the incredibly vivid dream he had. He really felt as though Jim had been with him in his mindspace, and he could’ve sworn that he sensed his presence there. Spock’s blood runs hot at the mere recollection of it, lust coiling in his abdomen. His body is screaming at him to walk down the hall to Jim’s quarters and have his way with him, but Spock won’t let his urges win him over.

Something about the unconscious encounter doesn’t sit right with him, but his thoughts are such a mess that he’s having trouble identifying the cause of his unease. At the very least, it seems reasonable that should he deprive himself physically of what his pon farr demands of him, his subconscious will supply it instead. Though he’s still caught off guard by just how realistic his vision was. It felt alarmingly real.

He’s only days away from the peak of his pon farr. Part of him is frustrated at his inability to keep it in check because he knows he’s more than capable of the intense meditation required to end it. For whatever reason, his usual methods have been less effective than he anticipated. He fears that it might be his preliminary bond with Jim that has been agitating his symptoms to an unmanageable degree. Spock suspects his body detects this evidence for a potential mate and now his subconscious is overly optimistic about his chances at fornicating this time around.

Unfortunately, he’s unable to inform his subconscious that he has no such chance of finding a mate, except perhaps for in his dreams. It’s no wonder to him that Vulcan culture shrouds pon farr in taboo, the experience opposes everything that Vulcan society is built around. Instead of being governed by rationality, one undergoing pon farr is controlled solely by sex and aggression. One’s pon farr craves violence and bloodshed, but the Vulcan people preach diplomacy and peace. While pon farr is a common occurrence, he can’t help feeling shameful and wrong for his urges.

The insidious concoction of these emotions continue to stir inside him until he grows increasingly agitated. He gets out of bed and begins pacing back and forth across his quarters like a caged beast. His mind keeps retreating to that corner of his brain where he can still feel the beginnings of his bond with Jim, the only semblance of comfort he can find. But even this he can’t indulge too much, or else he might abuse the person he cares for most.

He lets out an exasperated yell, satisfied by the way the sound grates the back of his throat. Before he can stop himself, he punches out the light fixture attached to the wall by the side of his bed, the bulb shattering with a cacophony of clinking glass shards. 

As well as shattering the light, Spock managed to leave a sizable dent in the wall. His anger subsides somewhat after his sudden release, and he stares down at the pile of sparkling glass on his floor. He absentmindedly assesses the damage to his fist, which is embedded with shards and bleeding from the knuckles. He concentrates on the pain once more to steady his frantic mind. 

He dresses his wounds with clinical indifference in his en suite bathroom, not even wincing as he carefully extracts the glass from his hand. Spock studies his reflection in the mirror for a moment, searching for any hint in his expression of what turmoil lies beneath it. He finds nothing and discovers that he is frightened of himself and what he might do.

<><><>

“Any questions?” 

Jim stands before his crew on the bridge after having briefed them on everything they know about their assignment. He contemplated giving a powerpoint presentation on the viewing window but he always falls asleep during those so he decided against it. He wanted to make this short and sweet so he wouldn’t have to feel Spock’s eyes on him for so long. 

His first officer stands near the back of the room with an eerily neutral expression, not having said a word during the briefing despite probably knowing more about the assignment than Jim due to his studious tendencies. Though Spock isn’t exactly staring at him any more than the rest of his crew is, Jim is having a hard time meeting his eyes without getting flashbacks to last night’s dream. The last thing he needs during a briefing is a hard on. 

Sulu raises a hand. “What kind of weapons do the Borg use?” 

“Um...” Jim pauses, “We’re not sure. Knowledge of the Borg is limited.”

Uhura pipes up, “Do they speak Common?”

“We believe so, yes.”

“How exactly do zey assimilate a species into zeir hivemind?” Chekov furrows his brows, likely imagining the worst possible scenarios.

“We’re not sure about that either.”

“This sounds like a suicide mission.” Bones grumbles and looks about as optimistic as ever.

Jim holds up his hands and gestures for them all to be quiet, “Alright, alright. I understand that for this assignment it seems like we’re pretty much going in blind, but the Commodore made it clear that information on the Borg is all we’re looking for. We’re not looking for a fight, and as far as the Borg are concerned, we’re no threat to them.”

“What about the beings inhabiting Sigma Erandi?” Uhura argues, “It’s our job to stop the Borg from harming innocent people.”

Jim considers this for a minute and finds himself unable to disagree with her. It goes against everything he stands for to leave people who are in need of his help. He knows he wouldn’t be able to leave the system and those beings to the mercy of the Borg even if the Enterprise was seriously at risk.

“You’re right,” he finally says, “we have to help them. I know all of you are behind me when I say that we can’t just abandon people who ask for our protection. This means we have to be extra cautious about how we approach this.”

Jim can already hear the backlash he’s probably going to get from Commodore Paris if they try and pull some crazy stunt. Judging from past experiences, they’ll probably have a few brushes with death and narrowly avoid absolute destruction. But, it will all have been worth it if they manage to save an entire species from extinction at the hands of the Borg.

“Here’s what I’m thinking:” Jim explains, the gears whirling inside his mind, “we approach the fifth planet of the system, the one that sent us the distress call, from the opposite side of the planet as the Borg. Hopefully, they won’t notice our arrival and it will give us time to send a team to the surface to investigate the situation. We’ll determine how serious the threat is and try and gather as much intelligence as we can on the Borg before possibly confronting them. Should we determine that the people there are in grave danger, we’ll bring the Enterprise around between the Borg ship and the planet. With the shields up, the ship should give the planet some protection and at the very least provide a distraction for their evacuation. As a last resort, we might beam a team directly onto the Borg’s ship and take them out from the inside. Hopefully, it won’t come to that.”

The crew seem generally satisfied with his plan, many of them already getting that determined look in their eyes that they usually get before a potentially dangerous mission. It never ceases to amaze Jim how willing they are to put themselves at risk for him. They do it over and over again for years and never lose that bravery that allows them to take challenges head on. He admires each and every one of them more than he’ll likely ever tell them.

He’s finally starting to feel less hesitant about their upcoming assignment. They’ve got approximately ten hours before they enter the Sigma Erandi system and not long afterwards they’ll reach Planet 5. They don’t have a lot of time to prepare but at least they have a plan now. Despite having been somewhat daunted about their assignment only days earlier, the briefing has lifted his spirits significantly. 

Jim places his hands on his hips and surveys the room, “Uhura and I will be the team that goes planet-side since she can handle communication and interaction with whatever beings we encounter. I trust her diplomacy skills more than mine, frankly. We can’t exactly announce our presence before we beam ourselves down there so hopefully they don’t immediately kill us.”

For the first time today, Spock speaks up from the back of the room, “Captain, permission to join your team on the surface? Your chances of survival increase appreciably with a third member.”

It’s impossible to avoid eye contact when Spock is speaking to him directly, and Jim can’t help but notice that Spock doesn’t seem quite like himself. His posture is far more stiff than usual and his face is unusually pale. Jim suspects that Spock might be hiding whatever medical issue he’s been having lately so as not to worry the rest of the crew. He’s afraid that allowing Spock to join them on Planet 5 might have serious consequences for Spock’s health. Regardless of how useful his presence on the team would be, Jim can’t risk losing him.

“No, Commander, I need you here on the bridge. I want you to monitor us from the ship and be ready to beam us back up if anything goes wrong.” 

One of Spock’s eyebrows twitches in a hint of irritation. “I beg your pardon, Captain, but I believe I would be of far more use on the planet’s surface with you and Uhura. Lieutenant Sulu is more than capable of taking the conn.”

Jim can feel Spock’s growing anger, but he’s not backing down on this. “Yes, the lieutenant is perfectly capable, but I want  _ you _ at the helm, Commander. I appreciate your concern, but Uhura and I can handle ourselves.”

They take a few steps closer to each other, and Jim can’t help but feel nostalgic at perpetually being at odds with his first officer. However, the nervousness he’s been feeling lately whenever he’s sharing a room with Spock remains stubbornly in the pit of his stomach. At the very least, he’s not thinking about his dream last night.

Spock’s nostrils flare, “Captain, I’m not sure you understand the danger you’re putting yourself into. You’re beaming yourself onto an unfamiliar planet full of strange beings entirely  _ blind _ . There are any number of things that might await you on the surface-”

“Commander Spock,” Jim growls, closing the distance between them until their faces are inches apart, “you are to remain on the Enterprise while Uhura and I investigate the surface, and that’s an  _ order _ .”

The bridge is silent, the rest of the crew are either pretending to busy themselves with something else or blatantly staring at the two of them. They all have the look about them of children who are watching their parents have an argument. Jim hates pulling the “I am your captain and you have to do what I say” card with Spock in front of the rest of the crew, but he cares too much to let Spock put himself at risk.

Spock seems to realize that Jim isn’t backing down and he doesn’t look happy about it. Jim can see the veins in his arms, a bright green against his white skin, and can tell that he’s clenching his fists by his sides. He’s taken aback slightly by just how angry Spock seems, but Spock has been acting strangely for a while so he brushes it off.

They’re staring each other down, a palpable tension in the air, until Spock’s posture finally eases. 

“As you wish, Captain.” He still looks mildly enraged, but Jim also detects a quiver in his voice. Spock almost sounds... defeated.

Before Jim can respond, Spock turns and walks quickly towards the turbolift. The frustration that Jim felt earlier melts away as he watches Spock leave. He was the one telling Spock “no”, but somehow he still feels hurt. He feels left behind.

Jim becomes aware of the rest of the crew on the bridge and quickly says, “Back to your stations, everyone. I’ll be right back. Sulu, you have the conn.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Before he goes after Spock, Uhura gets up from her chair and puts a hand on Jim’s arm. In a hushed tone she says, “I think we’ve both noticed that Spock hasn’t been himself lately.”

Jim is a little startled, but Uhura knows Spock as well as Jim does, maybe better. He’s reminded that he’s not the only person on the ship who cares about Spock, and suddenly he’s extremely glad for Uhura’s concern.

He sighs, “I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

Uhura gives him an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder, “I don’t either, but I know that he needs you.”

Jim lets her words sink in. He feels helpless when it comes to Spock, and more than that he knows Spock is deliberately not telling him everything. It leaves an ache in his chest to think that Spock doesn’t trust him completely. But he also knows that Spock is exactly the type of person to cut himself off when he needs others the most. If Spock needs him, like Uhura tells him he does, then he’ll put up with all of Spock’s stubborn behavior to provide him the comfort he won’t admit he needs.

He can feel his eyes watering as he says, “Thank you.”

Uhura smiles and lets him go. He doesn’t hesitate to follow Spock down the turbolift, and he has no doubt that Spock is heading towards his quarters because that’s where he always goes to be alone. 

He anxiously waits for the turbolift to count down the floors and practically pulls the doors apart because they don’t open fast enough. He has to talk to Spock before he gets to his room and goes back into his brooding, angsty meditation. If only he could reach out to him now and telepathically explain himself.

Around the corner Jim just barely catches a glimpse of dark hair and pointed ears. “Spock!”

He sees the figure pause for a moment but runs to catch up with his first officer anyways. He’s panting with his hands on his knees when he finally reaches Spock, who looks down at him with hesitation and a bit of surprise.

“Wait, please!” Jim begs, speaking quickly before Spock has a chance to run away again, “I’m sorry for arguing with you on the bridge. I know you’ve been dealing with some... Vulcan thing recently and I was worried that bringing you down to the surface would be putting you in danger. You just haven’t been yourself recently...”

Spock is silent for a moment. His brows are furrowed when he replies, “I was hopeful you would remain unaware of my present ailment. It did not occur to me that you were worried for my health.”

“Of course I am, Spock! I care about you.” Jim stands back up so he can rest a hand on Spock’s shoulder. He feels Spock tense from the touch at first, but he quickly relaxes. Jim feels a sense of calmness being pushed through his hand into Spock and realizes that he must be communicating with him telepathically again. But he doesn't let go.

Spock looks stunned and maybe even a little bit distraught. He glances at Jim’s hand on him and looks as though he might pull away, but Jim can tell that the telepathic link between them is growing stronger because it’s gradually becoming easier to send thoughts to him. It feels as though he’s speaking to Spock without words, like they have their own secret language. 

Jim’s hand slowly traces down Spock’s arm until he’s brushing their fingers together. He can barely help himself from tackling Spock with a kiss right now, but he holds himself back because it might do more harm than good. He cherishes the curves of Spock’s calloused fingers, the wrinkles of his knuckles, and knows damn well that this is a sign of affection in Vulcan culture. He does it anyway, because he can always feign innocence.

Spock’s lid’s flutter at the touch of their fingers, and in almost the exact same tone as he had in Jim’s dream last night, he purrs, “Captain...”

Unintentionally, Jim recalls the exceptionally sensual image of Spock looking up at him while inches from his crotch. Before he can stop it, he senses the image being transferred to Spock through their touch. As soon as he realizes what’s happening, he snaps his hand away, but it’s too late.

Spock’s eyes widen to an alarming degree. Neither of them say anything, and Jim holds his breath, praying that Spock didn’t just see what was on his mind. The color that appears on Spock’s cheeks, however, confirms that he did see. 

Jim is overcome with mortification. Fucking Christ, he’ll never be able to live this one down. There’s no way that Spock won’t think he’s a perverted freak now that he knows Jim has legitimately been  _ dreaming _ about him. Oh god, he can’t even meet Spock’s eyes anymore. His face is so hot he feels like his cheeks have been smacked with a hot pan.

Spock seems to speak for the both of them when he backs away and heads straight to his quarters. Jim is left alone in the hallway, wondering how the fuck everything went so wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry not sorry for the cliffhanger and i love you all <3 thanks for your feedback


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey folks, this chapter gets pretty hectic and goes heavily into Original Content territory, which i hope you don't mind. this chapter is also a lot of plot without p*rn so i apologize for that too lol. i promise i'll make up for that later ;)

Spock is having a difficult time breathing as the doors to his quarters shut behind him. The edges of his vision are green and his heart is racing faster than he can keep up with. He wasn’t at all prepared for the interaction that just occurred in the hall.

At the forefront of his concern is Jim’s ability to strengthen their bond. Not only has he grasped telepathic transmission of emotions but he was actively advancing the progress of their intimate mental connection. Spock can’t imagine how he’s able to do it without the proper instruction, but he’s more struck by how willing he had been to let Jim do it. He’s become accustomed to a constant mental fortitude kept under strict control, but all of his walls fell down so quickly when Jim pushed into his mind.

If he’d let Jim continue the strengthening of their bond for mere minutes longer, his pon farr would surely have been able to cross their mental bridge and strike Jim with the unpleasant symptoms. His guilt would be immeasurable if that happened.

Spock’s next concern is that the dream he’d had last night hadn’t been only  _ his _ dream. The last thing he’d been expecting to see in Jim’s mind was his own face, looking up very sensually from his captain’s lap. He was shocked to learn that their bond was already strong enough to facilitate a shared dream. A number of events recently have caught him entirely unawares to the point that he currently feels as though he’s been cast adrift in a boundless ocean.

His mind continually comes back to Jim and the flurry of emotions that Spock had sensed him feeling in that moment. Jim had mostly been feeling surprise and shame after the transmission of his vision last night, but Spock was curious that there had been no disgust there. That, combined with the touching of their fingers, which Spock isn’t entirely sure was an accident on Jim’s part, have done the opposite of encourage him to overcome his attachment. In fact, they might even point towards Jim returning his affections. He was so certain of himself just a few days ago that he would push through this without drawing anyone else into this mess with him, but Jim is making it remarkably difficult.

Spock’s skin still burns from Jim’s touch. The physical contact nearly spiraled his thoughts into blind fury and desire, and his hands are still shaking trying to control his urges. Truly the only thing keeping him from losing it is the spark of hope that has permanently settled into the corner of his mind where their bond lies. At the moment, he would give anything to fall into Jim’s arms and be relieved of this hellish ailment.

He cries out as a sudden pain slashes through his mind. Spock stumbles to the bathroom and hastily takes another of the pills, gripping the edges of the sink while he waits impatiently for the drug to take effect. His mind is reeling, and he can’t remember his first pon farr being nearly this excruciating. In a feverish state, he makes his way to the bed. 

Spock thought he had another day or two until his pon farr peaked, however, he fears that the strengthening of his bond with Jim has brought it on sooner than expected. But Jim needs him, he and Uhura are about to beam down to a foreign planet mere hours from now. Spock’s head is spinning too much for him to be able to make any rational decisions right now.

Before his state gets worse, Spock quickly reaches for his comm and types out a message to Bones. He has to warn someone that Jim might be in danger, either from his pon farr or him or both.

  * _Pon farr is peaking. Jim and I have initiated a mental bond. Protect him._



<><><>

Jim is shaking slightly as he makes his way back to the bridge. He can’t quite seem to catch his breath and he’s having a hard time maintaining his composure. Jesus fuck, what just happened?

He’s suddenly very glad that he ordered Spock to remain on the ship for the assignment because he’s not sure he’d be able to act properly around him. This will legitimately haunt him for years to come, but hopefully one day he can laugh this off like it’s all a big joke. Little does Spock know that his heart is breaking inside. 

A surge of pain strikes him then, like a split second headache, and Jim has to hold onto the wall to keep his balance. He’s not sure where this sudden pain comes from and he wonders if he should have Bones check him out, but he thinks better of it when it fades as quickly as it came. Besides, his crew has one officer out of commission already. 

The doors to the turbolift slide open, but as soon as Jim is about to step back onto the bridge, Bones drags him right back into the lift with a powerful shove. He presses the button to close the doors and then gets right up in Jim’s face.

“Jim, what the hell did you do? Were you just talking to Spock?” 

Jim, startled, stumbles over his words as he replies, “Um, uh... yeah. Why?”

Bones takes a deep breath like he has to prepare himself for what he’s about to say. “Did you or did you not just mentally bond with a Vulcan undergoing pon farr?”

Jim blinks, “Huh?”

Bones rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath, “I don’t get paid enough for this shit, I swear to God.”

Jim isn’t sure what Bones is talking about but he’s immediately concerned about Spock. He points a finger angrily at Bones’ chest. “Tell me what the fuck is going on, right now.”

Bones casually pushes away Jim’s hand and sighs, “Spock is experiencing the Vulcan mating period known as ‘pon farr’, that’s what the fuck is going on. It seems you’re unfamiliar with this so I’ll keep it short and sweet. Every seven years, Vulcan males get so hot and bothered that they have to mate or they’ll die, basically. Their hormones go batshit crazy and they get all angry and violent, it’s not pretty. Your first officer over there decided he’s going to try and meditate his way out of this, and trust me I tried to stop him from coming on this assignment and even tried delaying the launch but he wasn’t having it.”

Jim’s eyes widen and for the first time in a while he’s genuinely speechless. Mating period? Spock might die? His thoughts are swimming around in his mind like a school of frightened goldfish.

“Here’s the deal,” Bones continues, “somehow, you and Spock have a mental bond or at least the beginning of one, which means that Spock’s pon farr might be transferred to  _ you  _ now. Are you feeling warm at all? Having any urges to fuck every living thing in sight? Or any stronger urges than normal?”

“Fuck off, Bones, I’m fine. Is Spock okay?”

Bones looks Jim over and apparently deems him to not be under the influence of Vulcan hormones because he runs a hand through his hair anxiously and replies, “I don’t know, Jim. I just got a message from him saying you two bonded and that his pon farr is peaking.”

“Then we have to do something! His life is at stake, what the hell are you doing here talking to me?” 

Bones grits his teeth. “I’ll have you know that making one wrong move around Spock as he is right now could lead to me  _ and  _ Spock in caskets. He told me he has everything under control, and I don’t entirely believe him but I can’t exactly argue with him right now, can I? He could break me like a toothpick.”

Jim is silent for a moment. A lot of things are starting to make sense to him right now and it’s happening so fast that he’s having a hard time keeping up with it all. Spock’s strange behavior recently is probably because of this “pon farr” or whatever it is, and he’s not at all surprised that Spock has been trying to hide it from him. It’s probably not an easy thing to tell your captain that you have to take medical leave because you’re violently and irrationally compelled to have sex.

He turns to face away from Bones for a moment because he can feel his cheeks coloring. Has Spock’s pon farr triggered these feelings in him? Is that why they came on all of the sudden? He’s not sure what to think but he knows whatever he feels for Spock is very real. 

He has an idea that makes his stomach do a flip and he realizes he’s more than willing to offer himself as a mate to Spock. Did he really just think that? Good god, it would be kind of wrong for him to take advantage of Spock in such a vulnerable state. Spock probably wouldn’t be able to say no even if he wanted to, his body would make the choice for him. Jim suddenly feels sick.

Bones clears his throat loudly. “Is there something between you two that I should know about?”

Jim responds just a little too quickly, “No!”

Bones raises an eyebrow like Jim’s acting skills aren’t particularly impressive.

“I mean, other than the bond thing?” Jim swallows, “There’s nothing ‘between us’ if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Mm-hm.” Bones narrows his eyes.

This is starting to get kind of overwhelming and Jim is close to absolutely losing mind, so he says, “Look, I feel perfectly fine right now and we both have the Borg to worry about. I don’t know what to do about Spock but hopefully he has things under control like he says. If I’m planet-side and anything happens to Spock you better comm me right away, understood?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Good, I’ve got a ship to command.” Jim pushes the button to open the doors of the lift and he can feel Bones’ eyes on him as he walks back onto the bridge.

Chekov announces his presence and Uhura turns to give him a meaningful look as he walks by, which Jim merely responds to with a shrug and an exasperated sigh. He sinks into his chair and braces himself for a very long day.

The next several hours are spent running diagnostics on the ship to make sure they’re as prepared as they can be for what’s coming. Jim learns that the Sigma Erandi system has a particularly concentrated quantity of highly unstable hytritium, a rare compound that’s difficult to produce and might give some explanation as to why the Borg chose this species for assimilation. 

More than anything though, this period of time on the ship is spent in agitated anticipation. There’s only so much they could do to be ready for the encounter. As much as Jim tries to stay on task and run through possible scenarios in his mind, a part of him is perpetually pulling him back to thoughts of Spock. He periodically glances back at the turbolift when he hears the doors open, hoping to see Spock but always finding himself disappointed. 

There’s a pool of frustration growing in the pit of his stomach at the poor timing of everything. The realization of his feelings, Spock’s pon farr, the beginning of their next five-year mission, it all seems to culminate into one huge obstacle created by the universe to spite him specifically. He genuinely isn’t sure how much worse it can get, but he isn’t going to think about it in case he jinxes it.

On the bright side, his crew are invigorated by their stay at Yorktown and ready to attack this assignment with renewed vigor. He really hopes he isn’t about to let them all down.

After a while, they exit warp drive and Chekov points out a particularly bright star through the viewing window which marks the center of Sigma Erandi. It becomes increasingly larger as they approach it, and Jim’s heart starts racing because it’s dawning on him that this is really happening. 

He keeps looking over his shoulder unconsciously seeking the comfort of Spock’s presence at his side, but he’s still not there. He then worries he’ll never see Spock by his side ever again, but he has to hope that Spock is strong enough to last at least until Jim returns from this assignment. He has to remain hopeful, otherwise he risks falling apart entirely. 

Jim manages to focus on guiding the Enterprise carefully into the system with their sights locked onto Planet 5. Closing in on the planet, Jim can see the corner of a massive metal cube peeking out from behind it. That must be the Borg ship.

“It doesn’t seem like they’ve noticed our approach, Captain.” Sulu notes, referring to the Borg.

“Good.” Jim stares intently through the window, his hands forming a pyramid under his chin. 

Uhura appears next to him, looking just as intently towards their destination. She drops a hand to his shoulder without looking at him and Jim has no doubt that she can sense his unease. Besides Spock, there’s no one else that Jim would want to be with him on this assignment. He’d never admit it to her, but he always thought Uhura radiates a very calming maternal energy.

“Look, there’s activity on the surface over there!” she points towards a small cluster of dim lights spotting the planet, which must be an urban area, flashes of orange spontaneously appearing and disappearing within the cluster. It looks like the Borg are already beginning their path of destruction across the planet’s surface.

“Keep us as far as you can from the planet while still being close enough to beam us down. Uhura and I are going to make our way to the transporter room.” Jim turns to Uhura beside him, “You ready for this?”

She meets his gaze with determination, “This is what I’m trained for, isn’t it?”

He nods and gets up out of his seat. “Sulu, you’ve got the conn.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Alone together in the turbolift, Uhura lets out a shaky breath. “Did you talk to Spock?”

Jim gulps down a mouthful of anxiety before he says, “Yeah, I did. It didn’t go great but at least he’s staying put.” He goes on to give a brief summary of what Bones said to him earlier, watching Uhura’s eyes widen. He conveniently fails to mention his and Spock’s bond in his explanation since he’s not sure he’s ready to talk about it yet. She looks like she’s about to interrupt him when Jim says, “Bones says there’s not much we can do right now. Anyone who tries to interfere with Spock in his state could run the risk of being brutally murdered.”

Uhura huffs indignantly, “That stubborn bastard! I can’t believe him... I could’ve helped!”

“Trust me, I feel the same way. But I know he’d want us to put all of our concentration into this assignment. I think we owe him that.”

Uhura still looks upset but she doesn’t argue with him. Despite the emotional turmoil she must be going through at the moment, Jim is grateful that someone else understands how he’s feeling. 

“Besides,” Jim adds, “the Borg are going to wish they’d never left their little box when I’m through with them.”

<><><>

The first thing that Jim notices when he materializes onto the surface of Planet 5 is the vague cloud of dust that covers the purple-tinted sky. Jim and Uhura find themselves in the middle of a cobbled street surrounded by squat gray buildings of varying heights, each with a tall smoke tower sticking out of its roof. Humanoid beings are running frantically past them, some of them carrying children and some of them zooming past on hovering, chariot-like vehicles. 

Jim hears the sounds of phaser blasts and turns to see a squad of beings in some kind of armor trying their best to drive off several menacing cyborg creatures. These creatures, while mostly humanoid shaped, have various limbs replaced with machinery and metal tubes snaking along their bodies. The parts of them that are made of flesh are sickly pale and devoid of color. Jim shivers at the sight of them, immediately recognizing them as the Borg. 

One of the native inhabitants of the planet, who are human-looking besides having a purple-ish complexion and three sets of pure white eyes stacked on their foreheads, spots them and begins shouting desperately in a language that Jim can’t decipher. He tugs at Jim’s uniform, obviously pleading for help.

Jim looks to Uhura, who carefully puts a hand on his arm and asks, “Do you speak Common?”

The being looks distraught and points emphatically towards a tall building at the end of the street with important looking symbols above its massive doors. Before the being can say anything else, a Borg drone emerges from behind a nearby building and he takes off with a scream.

Jim looks back at the structure that the being pointed at and says to Uhura, “That must be their capitol building or something. Do you think we’ll find some officials or ambassadors in there that speak Common?”

“I’m not sure, but that’s our best option.” She heads off in that direction and Jim follows soon after.

They both pull out their phasers and attempt desperately to take down as many of the cyborg drones as they can along the way. However, their phaser blasts are merely absorbed harmlessly by invisible force fields around each drone, the Borg ultimately paying no mind to either of them. 

Jim hears Bones’ voice crackling from his comm, “How’s it looking down there?”

“Not great,” Jim admits, dodging falling debris as he runs, “the Borg have some kind of technology that’s counteracting our phaser blasts. We can’t hit them. It’s complete chaos.”

Jim watches a drone slowly back someone into a corner, placing a bionic hand on their head. The being’s body immediately slackens at the touch. After a few seconds, the being is noticeably drained of color and rises slowly and robotically from the ground.

“It seems like the Borg are able to assimilate people through touch, as well. We’re heading into the city to what looks like a government building. I don’t think any of the civilians speak Common.”

“Jesus, Jim,” Bones exclaims, “this is sounding dangerous.”

“I know, Bones, but we’ve got to at least try. Monitor my frequency and be ready to beam us up at a moment’s notice.”

They make it up the stairs and to the door of the building without much trouble, but they’re pretty much helpless to stop the brutality inflicted by the Borg on the planet’s population. Looking behind them, Jim sees the street stained purple with the gore of innocent people. The senseless violence makes his blood boil hot in his veins.

Uhura bangs on the door with her fists, “We’re with the Starfleet branch of the United Federation of Planets! We’re responding to a distress call you sent us! Open up!”

For a moment, nothing happens, and then the heavy metal doors swing open just enough for him and Uhura to slip through before they close with a bang. The inside of the building is made of a polished lavender-colored stone and the high ceiling is supported by lengthy columns of the same material. But Jim doesn’t have enough time to admire the beauty of its architecture.

A being in flowing iridescent robes rushes towards them speaking rapidly in Common, “Oh, thank goodness you’re here! We weren’t sure if the Federation had received our message or not. Please, follow me to the boardroom where the other delegates are waiting. Welcome to Remaldia, by the way, you may refer to me as Representative Mazza.”

“I’m Captain Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise and this is my Communications officer, Lieutenant Uhura. How long have the Borg been invading Remaldia?” 

Jim and Uhura try their best to keep up with Representative Mazza as they weave through the corridors of the building. 

“They first arrived not long before we sent our distress call and did not initially seem hostile. However, they quickly overtook the capitol and declared the Remaldian species condemned to assimilation. We don’t have nearly enough manpower to stop them!”

Mazza holds open the door for them as they step into a dome-shaped room with a large circular table in the center. The middle of the table is hollow to make room for a translucent cylindrical screen that currently displays a map of the planet spotted in red. Eleven Remaldian officials sit around the table, all dressed in the same robes as Representative Mazza. 

Mazza bows and introduces them to the table of delegates, who all nod solemnly in greeting. Mazza takes the twelfth empty place at the table.

Several Remaldians in charcoal robes provide extra chairs for Jim and Uhura, who take a seat hesitantly at the table as an official across from them says, “Thank you for coming, Captain, on such short notice. We’re not sure how familiar Starfleet is with the Borg but we would appreciate anything you can do to help us in our time of need.”

Jim looks around him at expectant faces, all looking at their last ray of hope as they confront the potential extinction of their entire species. He squares his shoulders and tries his best to look confident. “Of course, we’ll do everything we can. Unfortunately, we haven’t had many encounters with the Borg in the past. What have you learned about them since they came? Do they have any weaknesses?”

A Remaldian woman to the right of Representative Mazza replies, “They’re practically impenetrable! Our phasers do nothing but spark against their defenses!”

Another representative adds, “We’ve seen the way they incapacitate our people with a touch of the hand and believe they inject something into the body that instantly assimilates a being. As far as we know, assimilation is impossible from a distance.”

“Have you tried negotiating with them?” Uhura asks.

Representative Mazza explains, “We certainly tried, but they have no interest in trade, land, or peace of any kind. The only thing they want is complete control of our people! The Borg were impressed by our rapid production of hytritium along with our ability to use it as an energy source, which we believe is the reason they chose us for assimilation. Never would I have thought that our prosperity and success could potentially be our downfall!”

The woman speaks up again with a grave tone of voice, “They have already begun using our own people against us. Our friends and family return to our planet from their ship, bionically altered with no sign of remembering their former life, turning others into the same thoughtless drones.”

Jim and Uhura share a concerned look, horrified at the very thought of it. He wouldn’t wish this fate on his worst enemy.

“I think we’ll have to take them down from the inside,” Jim confesses, a lump of fear stuck in his throat, “since the drones seem to be receiving their orders from the ship. If we infiltrate their ship, we should be able to stop the invasion of your planet. In the meantime, I am more than happy to have your people evacuate onto the Enterprise for potential relocation.”

The Remaldian representatives discuss his offer in their native language with hushed tones. Some of them seem willing to accept, but he can tell that others are cautious to put so much trust into the Federation. Jim can’t imagine how difficult a decision this must be for them, either abandoning their home forever or staying to face likely extinction.

A heavy silence descends upon the room. Finally, Representative Mazza says, “We’ll make a state-wide announcement and allow those who wish to leave to be transported to your ship. They will report here to the capitol and await your permission to board. We humbly thank you for your extreme generosity, we won’t soon forget what you’ve done for Remaldia. You may consider us a faithful ally of Starfleet and the Federation from here on out.”

Jim can hear the heartbreaking quiver in his voice as Mazza expresses his thanks. He only wishes there was more he could do for them right now, but victory isn’t guaranteed and the future is uncertain. Like most missions, Jim will have to rely on his own intuition and experience to do everything he can to save these people. The burden of it weighs on his chest, making it difficult to breathe, but he won’t let it stop him.

“Uhura, you stay here in the capitol and help the refugees. I’m sure the council won’t mind teaching you some basic phrases to communicate with the Remaldians. I’ll call Scotty and have him beam me back up to the ship and get a team ready to take on the Borg.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me with you on their ship?” Uhura looks dubious.

Jim puts a hand on her shoulder and gives her as determined a grin as he can muster, “I’m sure. Don’t worry about me, that’s an order.” He tries to diffuse the tension with his usual teasing humor, but his effort is half-hearted at best.

Uhura responds with an uneasy smile, reluctantly watching him as he excuses himself from the table and steps off to the side of the room to speak into his comm.

“Scotty, are you there?”

“Aye Captain, I’m right ‘ere.”

Jim takes a deep breath before he says, “We’re moving into phase two. The situation here on the surface is out of our control. I’m having Uhura stay and help refugees prepare to board the Enterprise. Go ahead and beam me up whenever you’re ready.”

“Aye Captain.”

For a few seconds, Jim is weightless, and then he’s standing in the transporter room with Scotty running up to meet him.

“Jim, don’t tell me yer about to beam yerself directly onto the Borg ship.” He’s shaking his head like he can’t believe what’s happening. Jim can’t believe this is happening either.

But Jim doesn’t hesitate to head straight for the turbolift with Scotty close on his heels. “I’m afraid so.” he says, “But I won’t be alone, if that’s any consolation.”

Jim is waiting patiently for the lift doors to open as Scotty exclaims, “Bloody hell, why aren’t we on our way back to Yorktown by now?”

He steps into the turbolift and turns to face Scotty, “We have to help these people, it’s our job. Now go back to your station and get ready to beam several hundred aliens onto the ship.”

Scotty doesn’t have time to say anything else as the doors to the lift close, but Jim can very clearly see the irritation in his expression. He doesn’t blame Scotty for considering a retreat. Even Jim is starting to doubt that their plan will work, but it’s the only plan they have and he’s not one to give up easily. 

The ride up to the bridge is nerve wracking. They’ve probably already been alerted that he’s back on the ship, but he dreads having to tell the crew that their assignment just got way more serious. More than anything, though, he’s wondering whether he’ll see Spock waiting for him on the bridge. He doesn’t know whether he actually wants to see Spock there or not. Part of him would give anything to have Spock by his side as they delve deep into enemy territory. Another part of him isn’t sure he’d be able to focus on their assignment if Spock was constantly nearby. His thoughts create a storm of anxiety in his abdomen and leave his mouth unbearably dry.

Jim reaches the bridge and scans the room to find Spock nowhere in sight. He tamps down the disappointment and prepares for the next step of their plan.

“Keptin on zee bridge!” Chekov announces.

Jim is quick to begin giving orders. “Sulu, go ahead and put up the shields. Bring the Enterprise around so she’s blocking the planet from the Borg.”

Sulu frowns but does as he’s told, “Are we moving to phase two already?”

Jim refrains from taking a seat in the captain’s chair and paces back and forth in front of it instead. “It’s our only chance of defeating the Borg. We have to attack whatever’s controlling the hivemind.”

Bones appears on the bridge behind him and bursts out, “You’ve gotta be crazy! There’s no way you’re gonna make it out of there alive.”

“I appreciate your optimism, Bones,” Jim replies sternly, “but as Captain,  _ I  _ make the decisions. Planet 5, or Remaldia, deserves our best efforts to save them. I can’t leave all these innocent people to die knowing there was something else I could’ve done.”

Bones throws up his hands and curses Jim under his breath. Jim pretends not to hear it so he doesn’t have to charge his chief medical officer with insubordination. 

Jim watches through the viewing window at the front of the room as the Borg’s ship comes slowly into view. From a distance, it looked like a simple cube, but up close, Jim can see that it’s made up of a complicated array of metal wiring, piping, and machinery. He can’t seem to find any windows on the thing and is astounded because it’s unlike any kind of spacecraft he’s ever seen before. There’s no top or bottom, either, and he can’t make out a helm or bridge room.

Jim crosses his arms and tries not to feel intimidated by the Borg’s ship. “Sulu, I want you on my team going aboard the cube.”

“Yes, Captain.” 

“So it’s just going to be the two of you?” Bones sounds alarmed and slightly infuriated.

Jim explains, “I don’t want us drawing attention to ourselves. If we’re not out in about half an hour I’ll either call for backup or you guys hightail it out of here and get the refugees to safety.”

“Keptin,” Chekov argues, “vee cannot abandon you and Sulu!”

“It’s alright,” Sulu looks over at the ensign beside him with a meaningful expression, “you’ve got this. Don’t worry about us, just make sure you get the ship out of danger, okay?”

Jim sometimes forgets how young Chekov is, and although he’s very qualified for his job, he’s not sure Chekov is qualified for the emotional toll that it takes. He’s made it this far, though, so Jim doesn’t doubt that he’s a strong kid.

As he and Sulu head to the turbolift, Jim says over his shoulder, meeting the ensign’s shining eyes, “Chekov, you have the conn.”

There are a number of anxious faces that stare back at him as the doors of the lift close again. He tries to memorize the picture of them all in his mind in case it’s the last time he sees them. He’s not exactly pessimistic about their victory, but he does it just in case. Jim has learned enough to know that you’ll never know when it’s the last time.

On the way down, Jim makes a few calls on his comm to figure out what kinds of weapons they have onboard. After a discussion with the Amory officer, he orders two stunsticks to be brought immediately to the transporter room. He figures that the electricity might have an effect on the drones’ circuitry and the stick part will help keep them at a distance. Jim also gives Sulu a quick overview of what he learned from the Remaldian council.

Back in the transporter room, Jim finds Scotty having a very heated conversation with Keenser about the transporter’s bulk-beaming capabilities. Keenser looks as though he’s had about enough of Scotty’s shit, which is to say that he looks the same as usual.

A crewmember arrives just in time to bring Jim and Sulu each a stunstick. Jim holds down the button on the side, watching a bright blue bolt of electricity spark between the two prongs on the end of the weapon. Scotty is momentarily distracted from his argument by the loud zap and looks just in time to witness a wicked grin stretch across Jim’s face. Jim is ready to finally do some damage to these fuckers.

“Oh lordy, you bett’r be careful with those things.” Scotty shakes his head.

“What d’you mean, Scotty? I’m always careful with dangerous objects.” Jim says, tossing the stick into the air and letting it spin before catching it in his hand again.

Sulu cuts in, “You can get us directly onto their ship, right?”

Scotty pointedly ignores Jim’s antics. “Aye, sir, they’re not tryin’ at all to keep us from boardin’. It’s like they’re completely ignorin’ us, I don’t understand it!”

“That’s because all they care about is assimilating the Remaldians. They’re narrow-minded focus is good for  _ us _ , at least.” Jim is briefly reminded of the scenes of chaos and destruction that he’d witnessed on the surface. “C’mon, we haven’t got any time to lose.”

Before he knows it, he and Sulu are standing on the platform, Scotty looking up at them from the controls like he’s wondering whether he should say goodbye, but then his expression hardens and he nods at Jim, waiting for his orders. 

Jim glances over at Sulu, who gives him a nod as well. Afraid to waste another second, he commands, “Beam us over, Scotty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another cliffhanger! we'll be seeing Spock again soon i promise. i hope this chapter wasn't too overwhelming! thank you all so much for reading it means a lot to me <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for your patience, we're getting very close to the epic climax of the fic! i apologize in advance for the wait of upcoming chapters since classes just started. also just a warning that there's gonna be a lot more gore in these next couple chapters!

_Spock’s vision is clouded by a general haze of purple. The air is thick with dust that restricts his breathing and burns his eyes, making the already blurred world around him that much harder to see. He hears the sounds of screaming, phasers blasting, and frantic footsteps, the ugly symphony of a war zone._

_Someone is shouting at him and pulling at his clothes, begging for something he can’t understand. The words are jumbled and indecipherable, and his mind struggles to make sense of it. Their pearlescent white eyes set in a purple face are wide with fear, pleading with him. These are the eyes of someone who has witnessed death. It is a pain that he knows well._

_Mechanical beasts roam the streets, dead and cold and merciless in their hunt. The metal of their bodies sparkles cruelly in the light of his phaser’s discharge, which does no damage to their impenetrable forms. He fears that the beasts are too strong._

_Then he’s running, leaping over the rubble and debris of a devastated world. He’s heading for a tall structure, a sacred beacon amongst the beasts and the dying. The chaos surrounding him is an alarming reflection of the day on Vulcan that saw the murder of his home. Spock lost so much that day, now he watches others experiencing that same loss. His heart is beating impossibly fast._

_The beasts are multiplying. Spock is sickened by the resurrection of the dead, the way they use the carcasses of the innocent as puppets to carry out their bidding. Spock finds their actions deeply violating in their lack of compassion. Without question, these bionic monsters lack any feeling at all._

_As he comes closer to the building he finds himself feeling less and less grounded in his own body. He gradually comes to the realization that he isn’t truly himself right now, that these are not his legs running and these are not his lungs breathing. Spock is merely a consciousness inhabiting someone else’s physical being. But, whose being?_

_This body feels familiar, as though he’s been here many times before. He does not wish to leave but he can sense his mind slipping back to its own vessel. Spock tries to hold on to this person, to remain present in this war torn world, but it’s an uphill battle. Eventually, the scene around him slowly dissolves into darkness._

<><><>

Jim and Sulu materialize with their stunsticks buzzing, unsure of what will await them on the other side. They’re on a grated walkway suspended from the ceiling which overlooks the vast, industrial interior to the ship. On all sides, they are surrounded by time-worn metal the color of blackened steel. The two of them are alone in this section of the ship, the only thing that can be heard is the distant clang of pipes and the ambient noises of machinery. Everything has an eerie green glow from some indeterminate light source that reminds Jim of toxic slime.

“This place is huge.” Sulu whispers, clearly frightened of alerting the attention of anything that might be lurking in the shadows. Neither of them lower their sticks.

“Where the fuck are we?” Jim mutters to himself. He looks around him for any signs of what part of the ship they’re on, but both ends of the walkway look the same and he can’t see where either of them leads.

He glances up and notices the cluster of pipes that run over their heads, each of them varying in thickness. Those pipes have to be leading somewhere, he thinks, probably towards the center of this mechanical maze.

Jim grips the stick tightly in his hands and says in a harsh whisper to Sulu, “Watch out!” 

He slashes at the pipes above him, the ring of metal striking metal echoing through the chamber, and Jim prays desperately that nobody heard that. One of the pipes is sliced cleanly down the middle, a side drooping low as a sinister black liquid gushes from it, spilling through the grates into the empty air below them. It slicks the walkway under their feet like some kind of oil.

Jim points in the direction of the oil’s flow. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say that the control room of this thing is that way.”

Sulu nods, and then they’re creeping swiftly down the walkway, trying their best to step carefully and avoid making any more sounds. The walkway leads into a hallway that’s closed on all sides and provides some semblance of cover. Jim’s stunstick glows blue on the end like a beacon in the darkness. His heart is racing a thousand miles a minute and he’s afraid that the Borg can hear it because of how loud it pounds in his ears.

They crouch against the wall for a moment, watching several drones cross their path at the end of the tunnel where several halls intersect. The drones take no notice of him or the lieutenant, mindlessly continuing about their business. They don’t speak to each other, either, and it unnerves him that they can communicate telepathically through their hivemind. If they get caught by one drone, the entire ship will know in an instant.

Jim follows the pipes above them as best he can, but after a while they come to another intersection where the pipes jumble together so that he can’t tell where one starts and another ends. They spend a solid five minutes, in clear sight of anything walking down either four of the halls, staring up at the ceiling trying to figure out which way to go.

Eventually, he’s finally had enough, “God _fucking_ dammit!” He slams the blunt end of his stunstick into the wall next to him, leaving a sizable dent in the metal paneling. His patience is running pretty thin at the moment. It feels like they’ve been going in circles for hours now.

Sulu tries his best to calm his captain’s anger, “Why don’t we wait for a couple drones to show up and follow whichever way they go?”

Jim agreed, trying to slow his breathing and remain composed. He can’t lose his cool right now, especially in front of a member of his crew. Yet, there’s still a tightly wound ball of anger inside him that he’s unable to tame.

Next thing he knows, he and Sulu have lodged themselves behind several tall pillars. If Jim pokes his head out slightly, he can just barely see the intersection they’d just been standing in. His stunstick is turned off for now, but his thumb hovers over the button anxiously.

They wait for what feels like an eternity, and Jim has a difficult time keeping still. It’s much more his style to burst in guns blazing, but the stakes right now are greater than his penchant for action. This mission is bigger than him.

The whisper of footsteps reverberates from down the hall. Jim hears the thump of one humanoid step and the clang of one bionic step, _thump clang thump clang thump clang_ , growing steadily louder. A drop of sweat rolls down the side of his face, but he doesn’t move to wipe it away. He’s listening closely and feeling the vibrations of the drone’s approach through the grating beneath his feet. 

He spots the drone as it appears in the intersection and turns down the right hallway. Jim motions for Sulu to wait until the footsteps fade before they emerge from their hiding spot and follow the drone’s path.

Farther down the hallway, the green glow becomes brighter. They turn the corner and the hallway opens up into a much larger chamber of the ship. The room is filled with rows of human-sized alcoves, each fitted with a glowing green tank of liquid above them. Jim doesn’t have to wonder what they are for long because several of them are occupied by motionless Borg drones. They look as though they’re sleeping standing up, which makes him think that these alcoves are like charging stations for the Borg’s cyborg army. He and Sulu pause to investigate them further, enraptured by how alien it all is.

Sulu pears behind the first row of alcoves to look at the many rows behind it. “Do you think they have this many drones?”

Jim peers through the grating beneath their feet and above their heads and sees even more rows of glowing green tanks. “I sure hope not.”

He cautiously makes his way up to the nearest ‘sleeping’ drone, the mechanical implants throughout its body reflecting the green of the tank above it. If there had once been a soul in this being, Jim can’t tell. It’s lifeless now. As he gets closer, he notices that the only remaining ear comes to a slight point, and the sight of it paralyzes him.

Jim can’t be sure if this drone was once Vulcan, but that doesn’t stop his mind from imagining Spock in the alcove before him, his body mutilated by wires and metal. He imagines Spock becoming one of these creatures, the color drained from his face and the life gone from his eyes. The thought horrifies him, but the thought of losing Spock horrifies him more. 

With their bond, he realizes that he now carries a part of Spock with him in his mind. If he tries hard enough, he thinks he can feel the presence of someone else somewhere in the back of his head. It’s not an uncomfortable feeling, and he finds that it soothes the ache of his perpetual loneliness. He really doesn’t want to lose that reassuring presence.

In an instant, there’s a hand around his throat. The air is ripped from his lungs, leaving him wheezing and gasping. The drone’s eyes fly open, staring him down with a cold, dead gaze. The creature lifts him off the floor, his body dangling from its inhuman grip.

“S- Sulu...” Jim manages to choke out.

The lieutenant appears beside him and slams down on the drone’s elbow with his stick, releasing Jim and sending him sprawling on the ground, desperately sucking in air. Sulu’s stunstick zaps to life and the drone convulses unnaturally with a solid jab to the chest. It falls to the floor with a solid _clunk_ , the sound echoing hollowly about the chamber.

“Thank you.” Jim finally says. He pats his neck with the pads of his fingers, searching for a puncture wound and hoping to God that he hasn’t been injected with Borg juice, but he thankfully finds nothing.

Sulu pulls him to his feet and quickly moves into a fighting stance. “I think they’ve noticed we’re here.”

Sure enough, all of the nearby drones who were once frozen in place are stepping down from their stations. Just as Jim is firing up his stunstick, turning to defend the lieutenant’s back, the drones are already starting to close in on them. The distant sound of marching footsteps can be heard throughout the ship.

It seems they’ve already been discovered, so it doesn’t seem like there’s any point in being stealthy now.

Jim’s body comes alive as adrenaline courses through his veins. The bolts of energy that run up and down his spine are not unlike the bolts of electricity that buzz on the end of his stunstick. Holy shit, he’s been waiting for this.

Jim ducks as a drone reaches for him, slashing his stick upwards into its abdomen. He shoves it backwards into several other drones, zapping it again and sending electricity through its body to the bodies of the drones behind it. Another drone lunges towards him and he knocks it away with the blunt end of his stunstick, jabbing the electric end of it behind him into yet another drone’s face. He’s doing his best to keep up with their ceaseless attacks, but he’s also having an absolute blast turning these bionic bastards into smoking kebabs.

Sulu is trying his best to take on the swarm behind Jim, zapping and swinging with surprising grace. At one point, Jim watches Sulu deftly parry riposte a drone’s incoming fist. Who would’ve guessed that the lieutenant’s fencing background would come in handy at a time like this?

One of the drones to Jim’s left manages to take a swipe at him while he’s distracted, slashing through his pants and cutting into his upper thigh. The wound stings as raw muscle meets open air, blood already rising to the surface and soaking the fabric around it. It doesn’t feel deep and Jim doesn’t have time to dress it, so he fights through the pain with gritted teeth.

As hard as they both stab and block incoming attacks, they’re quickly outnumbered. Jim and Sulu have their backs pressed up against one another as the mass of drones closes in. Jim can taste the beginnings of desperation on his tongue as he licks the open cut on his lip. He’s not sure if they’re going to make it out of this one alive.

One hand still firmly gripping his stunstick, thumb pressed forcefully on the button, Jim frees his other hand to speak into his communicator, “Kirk to Enterprise, is anyone there?”

“Keptin, is everyzing alright?” Chekov’s voice buzzes from the comm.

Jim tries his best to shout above the blaring cacophony of so many drones, “Backup! We need backup _now!_ ”

A snapping claw knocks Jim’s communicator from his hand, sending it flying into the mob. Well, he sure hopes they received his call for backup. He sure hopes they get here fast, too. With a deep breath, he prepares for the worst.

Suddenly, the entire crowd of drones around them simultaneously stand at attention, arms locked at their sides. He shares a baffled look with Sulu as the beings who were at their throats just seconds ago now remain rigid in their places.

One of the drones turns to look directly into Jim’s eyes, its voice monotone and robotic as it says, “The Messiah wishes to see you. You are coming with us. Do not struggle; resistance is futile.”

Before Jim can respond, a pair of hands are grabbing his wrists from behind and securing them tightly at the small of his back. He twists and tugs trying to free himself, but he can’t compete with the strength of the mechanically enhanced drones. 

After another moment of failing to wrestle himself free, Jim allows himself to be shoved forward by the drone behind him. He’s not ready to give up yet, but since they don’t seem to be trying to kill or assimilate him at this very moment, he figures he has time to plan his escape. ‘Resistance is futile’ his ass, Jim thinks, no one tells Captain James T. Kirk what to fucking do.

“Don’t worry, Sulu,” Jim calls over his shoulder, not sure where they’re taking his lieutenant but still attempting to maintain a veneer of control over their situation, “backup is on its way!”

He can’t hear Sulu’s response, if he even does respond, over the clamor of the drones’ footsteps on the metal grating. He really hopes that’s not the last time he sees his helmsman. 

Trying with all his might to steady the ceaseless racing of his heart, Jim lets his captors guide him into the depths of the Borg ship.

<><><>

_The blackness of Spock’s vision slowly reveals a completely different set of surroundings, but he senses that he’s back in the same body as before. In stark contrast to the blazing purple battlefield, he now finds himself in an eerily quiet, industrial-looking ship._

_Pipes run along the walls and ceiling like blood vessels, a low rumble resonating in the floor beneath his feet like breathing. He is in the belly of the beast, and while it seems only to be sleeping, he knows it is waiting patiently for the perfect time to strike._

_The person whose body he is inhabiting navigates the winding passages of the beast’s bowels with nervous vigilance. They are the vulnerable prey that walks unknowingly within the lion’s den._

_Insidious figures creep out of the corner of Spock’s eye, lurking in the crevices and shadows and everywhere just out of sight. Spock’s senses are firing alarms inside his head, screaming at danger that he is helpless to fight back against as he looks passively from this body that is not his._

_Then he sees the nest, the glowing green incubation chambers for hatching countless more ugly beasts. Rows upon rows of cyborg-shaped eggs, ready to burst and release the demons that squirm beneath the surface. How strange that such hideous things can hide behind such harmless looking exteriors._

_Before he can give a warning, an egg hatches, the beast coming alive with its greedy hands. The hands are around his throat, squeezing his airways, his sight growing fuzzy and unfocused. He can feel the connection between his mind and this one growing weaker, so he latches on with intense concentration. He can’t let go yet._

_The drones, or the puppets being possessed by murderous entities, flock like vultures around him. They descend on him with sharp talons and gaping maws, shrieking for a bite of flesh. He can barely see the ground beneath him, they crowd around him so densely. A pain suddenly originates from his thigh. Spock is swift to recognize the pitiful likelihood of victory in their situation, and he wishes he could compel this poor person to flee._

_Instantaneously, the beasts fall back into line like the strings holding them all up have just been pulled taught. His hands are held behind his back and he’s being urged to walk forward. They speak to him with wicked voices, trying to worm their way into his thoughts and force him to obey._

_It is in the calm of submission, when this vessel ceases to struggle, that Spock is able to see more clearly into their mind. The sense of familiarity comes back to him again, and he feels as though the person’s identity is just out of reach._

_He delves deeper into their mind, searching for answers, and finds tiny fractions of memories that flash before his eyes. He’s looking out of the viewing window in the bridge room of the Enterprise at a purple-tinted planet, the corner of a massive cube creeping behind it. Then, he’s meeting Uhura’s concerned gaze in an ornate, dome-shaped room, feeling the dread of some inevitable conflict. The vision changes again and he’s looking into the face of one of the Borg drones, seemingly asleep, and somehow it resembles his own face. Looking into this face that is his but isn’t his, he’s flooded with sensations of fear and sadness and the dread of losing something he loves._

_He pulls back abruptly from inside this person’s memories, their identity suddenly becoming clear._

_This is Jim. He’s been watching the Borg invasion through Jim’s eyes, watching as Jim delves recklessly into the Borg’s ship. Spock has been feeling his fear and his pain this whole time._

_He just witnessed Jim being captured._

<><><>

Before he’s even entirely retreated from his deep meditation, Spock is rising to his feet. There’s something powerful coursing through him that moves his limbs before he’s aware that they’re moving. He scans his quarters in a mental fog, not exactly seeing anything, though he’s certain that he’s searching for something in particular. Jim’s face appears in his mind and he is jolted abruptly back to reality.

At this very moment, Jim is surrounded by Borg drones, captured and helpless. 

Spock feels his nails digging into his palm with how stiffly he clenches his fists, he can barely contain his fury. How dare those mechanical demons put their hands on Jim. Jim is _his_. The Borg will never lay another finger on his captain if Spock has any say in the matter, which he is about to make sure that he does.

In mindless rage, Spock digs his fingers into the door to his room, tearing it clean from the wall and tossing it haphazardly behind him. It crashes to the floor with a thunderous sound. He steps out into the hallway and pays no mind to the crewmembers that tremble against the wall, clearly startled by Spock’s show of strength.

His vision is blurred by a vague, green haze, but he has no trouble making his way directly to the transporter room. Spock feels something within him pulling him closer to Jim, a deeply buried urge that he could never hope to resist. Indeed, he readily gives into his urge, every part of him desperate to rescue his captain from the clutches of the Borg. The only thoughts that cross his mind are shapeless yearnings for vengeance, violence, and _Jim_.

Spock is blind to everyone and everything around him as he storms through the Enterprise, though people move quickly out of his way when they see him approaching. Better for them, considering Spock will easily obliterate anyone in his path.

The transporter room grows immediately quiet as he steps in. There are already several crewmembers being outfitted with electrified staffs, likely preparing to beam aboard the Borg ship. Bones is having a heated conversation with Scotty, but they both pause in the middle of their discussion to watch Spock’s entrance. 

His eyes lock onto Scotty, who gulps nervously as Spock advances. Out of the corner of his eye, he briefly notices Bones making gestures for everyone to give Spock a wide berth. 

A hand reaches to grab a fistful of Scotty’s uniform as Spock demands, “Beam me aboard that ship.”

Scotty stutters, “But, erm- Commander, we’ve already got a backup team ready-”

“That is of no importance to me,” he grits his teeth and leans close to Scotty’s petrified face, “I want you to get me onto that ship. I will not accept no as an answer.” His tone is dripping with the threat of his words, and he revels in the way Scotty pales at his dominance. 

Scotty glances over at Bones with a pleading look, but Bones merely nods his head, urging Scotty to comply with Spock’s request. Only Bones knows that Spock will truly do anything to get what he wants in this moment, even to someone as familiar to him as Scotty. 

“Take it easy, now. I can getcha onto the ship no problem, alrigh’?” 

Scotty stumbles as Spock releases him from his grip. 

Without a second of hesitation, Spock steps onto the platform, his fists clenched at his sides. His entire body is tense, muscles flexing, because he can sense just how close he is to the object of his desire. Not only that, but he is overcome entirely with the primal need to pierce flesh and snap necks. Spock can barely contain his eagerness to drain the life out of as many bionic demons as he can get his hands on. They must pay for what they’ve done to Jim.

He’s completely oblivious to the wide-eyed stares of everyone in the room, all of whom are likely shocked by such a display of emotion from a Vulcan. They should consider themselves lucky that they won’t be present to witness what is about to occur on the enemy vessel.

With a growl in the back of his throat, Spock orders, “ _Now._ ” 

Seconds later, Spock finds himself in the same place he saw in his vision earlier. The Borg ship vibrates slightly under his feet, the pipes running along the wall on either side of him pulsing with various substances. Spock is keen to kill this hideous beast from the inside.

He senses something else on this ship, though. If he concentrates hard enough, he can just make out the faint whisper of a human heartbeat coming from several floors away. His mind latches onto the rhythmic sound, immediately recognizing it as belonging to Jim, and the tugging from his abdomen becomes increasingly stronger. Every inch of his body is invigorated by the proximity of his captain.

After he’s barely become accustomed to his surroundings, several Borg drones turn a corner and head straight for him. He’s certain that the entire ship is already alerted to his presence and he doesn’t wait for the backup team to arrive before facing the oncoming drones directly. It may appear as though he’s outnumbered, but they haven’t seen what he’s capable of yet.

The first of the three drones reaches towards him with an open palm, a pair of sharp needles protruding from its wrist. 

Jim’s voice calls a warning into his mind: _Don’t let them inject you!_

Spock is taken aback by the telepathic message for a second, but the sound of his captain’s voice only makes the blood in his veins run that much hotter. He’s too deep into the peak of his pon farr, the maddening _plak tow_ , to contemplate how Jim accomplished it with only a partial telepathic bond. It merely fans the flames of his rage.

Heeding the unexpected warning, Spock dodges the drone’s attack and uses its own arm as leverage to flip its body over his shoulder. He’s pleased to find that their weight is nothing compared to his exceptionally heightened strength, and the drone’s metal limbs spark against the ceiling before it comes down in a mangled heap on the floor.

The other two drones are incognizant of their fellow Borg’s rapid demise, continuing their steadfast pursuit of Spock. Reaching for the drone on his right side, Spock plunges into its abdomen and takes hold of the steel spine running through the center of its torso. With both hands, he lifts its body and swings it like a wrecking ball into the drone approaching him from the left. They collide with a sickening crunch against the wall, a pipe bursting on impact and spewing steam throughout the hall.

Breathing heavily, Spock looks down at his hands smeared with dark, oily fluid. Covered in the gore of his enemies, he takes a moment to relish in his victories before pressing onward. He begins following the sound of Jim’s heartbeat like a bloodhound following a scent.

Eager for the next altercation, Spock feels to the core of his being that _nothing_ is going to stop him from getting to Jim. He will claim what is rightfully _his_.

<><><>

Jim drifts in and out of consciousness as he’s half-pushed and half-carried towards the center of the ship. A blurry haze in the back of his mind keeps trying to pull him into something angry and sinister. Every once in a while, he gets flashes of memories that he’s not sure are his, despite their being surrounded by a strange aura of familiarity. 

It’s in one of these flashes that he sees an outstretched palm and those protruding tubes filled with the Borg’s ingredients for assimilation. He can’t explain why, but he’s compelled beyond all reason to shout a warning with his thoughts: _Don’t let them inject you!_ He’s not sure if the warning is for himself or whoever the memory belongs to, but he doesn’t have long to dwell on it because he’s snapped back to the present when he nearly trips and falls over his own feet.

After what feels like an eternity of walking, all the while Jim is bewildered by how the drones can make their way around the ship when every direction looks exactly the same, they come to a stop. 

Jim shakes himself awake and finds himself in a circular room, the same drone charging stations lining the edges of it, though only a few of them are occupied. The whole room reeks of rust and oil, making him wobble slightly where he stands. He’s even more unbalanced by the quaking of the floor beneath him, a low-pitched thrum coming from below. If he’s hearing correctly, he’s almost certain that they’re right above the ship’s main generator.

Abruptly distracted from his assessment of his environment, a drone appears before him, slightly shorter and less mechanically altered than the rest of them. Unlike the stocky, robust build of the other Borg he’s encountered, this one is lean and made up of more sleekly designed parts. While their head is smooth and hairless, Jim can see a number of wires and metal parts extending from the back of their head. From the front, they appear almost normal.

They strut casually up to him with a beady, unblinking stare that sends a shiver down his body. He can’t help but think that while the drones seem to be alive, they feel much more like temporarily reanimated corpses.

Jim flinches as the drone leans in to inspect him with clinical closeness. His heart is racing in his chest and he’s amazed that he doesn’t spontaneously combust right here.

“Species 5618,” they finally say, eyes roving over his figure like a scientist studying a particularly fascinating specimen, “or ‘Captain Kirk’, as you are called by your kind. You possess a curious amount of knowledge on the ‘Federation’ we have long heard of.”

Jim tries not to breath in the scent of the drone’s heavily preserved flesh as he hisses, “What do you want from the innocent people on this planet? Are you the leader of the Borg?”

In the same robotic monotone, they reply, “I am the Messiah. Many centuries ago, I parted ways with our Queen, forming my own race of Borg, for she was too hasty in choosing species for assimilation. I am not so much the leader of our sect as the seed from which every other drone inhabiting this ship has grown. They are my beloved children.”

Before he can react, the Messiah grabs his jaw with a slimy hand, their fingers painfully cold against his skin. He’s terrified for a moment that they’re about to inject him with that dreaded poison, but he doesn’t feel any sharp points jutting from the Messiah’s palm.

“You would make a very pretty flower, Captain.” they murmur, a blue tongue coming out to lick their upper teeth, “Shall I add you to my garden?”

Jim tries to wrench himself out of the Messiah’s grip, but it only tightens when he struggles. “You can do whatever you want to me, so long as you leave my ship and this planet alone.”

Something like a smile, though more resembling a grimace, stretches across the Messiah’s face. “How fascinating, another species prone to ridiculous acts of self-sacrifice. I pity the Queen for her careless designations for assimilation, as I so enjoy examining my prospects before making my decision. Perhaps I should take a peek into that lovely brain of yours, Captain.”

The thought of the Messiah probing his mind is terrifying to him. His head is one place he’s always felt safe, even more so recently after the initiation of his bond with Spock. He despises the idea of this undead creep invading his privacy like that. God forbid they find his and Spock’s intimate connection and somehow cause harm to the man he cares so much for.

Jim feels their frozen fingertips sliding up the right side of his face to his temple. He’s entirely defenseless to the Messiah’s mental invasion, and he feels his body go slack as a painful force roots through every nook and cranny of his mind. Black spots dance before his eyes. A whimper escapes his lips as his entire skull feels as though it’s being split in half from the inside out.

“Release him.”

Within seconds, the force withdraws from his head and his mind is left feeling raw and open. It takes him a while to realize who interrupted them, and he’s simultaneously horrified and overwhelmingly relieved to find Spock standing across the room from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> forgive me for any canonical inconsistencies, but since this is technically an alternate universe i think i can get away with some stuff haha. also whoops another cliffhanger! thanks for reading <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've changed the rating to Explicit because there's some SERIOUS gore in this chapter, so if you're sensitive to that then i'd recommend skimming this chapter except for the last bit from Jim's POV. thank you all for your patience, for some reason i decided to be a STEM major :)

The first thing that Jim thinks upon seeing Spock is that he looks way more buff than usual. Not that Jim makes a habit of staring at Spock’s physique, but he has to admit that there’s an abnormal, though not unappealing, bulge to his muscles at the moment. Jim tries no to stare at Spock’s chiseled abdomen that’s peeking out from his torn uniform.

His second thought is that, thank god, Spock isn’t dead. Jim truly understands what Bones was trying to tell him earlier about Vulcan pon farr now that he’s looking at its effects on his first officer. Spock’s eyes are slightly rolled back in his head, like he’s being possessed by some otherworldly force. He’s flush all over and Jim is sure that if he was closer to Spock that he would feel the heat radiating from his body. Besides that, Spock is fortunately very much alive.

“Spock!” he gasps. 

He doesn’t have much time to say anything else, though, because the Messiah is obviously not pleased by Spock’s arrival. As though they’d been expecting him, two drones appear behind Spock and try to restrain him. 

To Jim’s surprise, Spock is able to pull his arms free of their bionic grips with minimal effort, swiftly taking hold of the head of the drone at his left shoulder. With astonishing strength, Spock pulls its head back and smashes it face first into the wall, where it sparks with a disturbing crunch on impact. 

The other drone has time to land a solid blow on the back of Spock’s leg, which Jim swears he can feel on the back of his own leg. Jim winces, but Spock barely stumbles from the strike, instead turning to face his second opponent with a furious expression. He watches Spock tear a metal tube from the drone’s shoulder and wrap it around its neck, choking the drone with its own bionic parts.

Never in his life has Jim seen a single person fight with such raw power. He’s well aware that as a Vulcan, Spock is several times stronger than him, but this is a completely different level. Punishing hits seem to glance off of Spock’s body like gentle pats, and each move he makes in return is usually able to kill a drone in one go. Jim would never admit it to anyone, but it’s fascinating and a little bit arousing to watch. Jesus, why is he turned on by the fact that Spock could probably rip him in half with his bare hands?

Though Spock manages to take both of them down quickly, they’re soon replaced by twice as many drones. Jim feels a pain in his chest as Spock is gradually beaten down until he’s forced onto his knees, his arms held behind his back. Jim tries again to free himself from the cyborgs that restrain him, but it does just as little as the first time he tried it. Helplessness washes over him in a crushing wave that makes him want to scream or cry or both. He can’t bear to watch Spock being hurt on his behalf. It’s so much worse than being abused himself.

“Struggling will only make things worse for you.” the Messiah says, looking down at Spock. His face is twisted with so much anger that Jim can practically  _ see _ how much Spock wants to beat the shit out of them right now.

Leaning over slightly, the Messiah takes a closer look at Spock, “Species 3259, I haven’t seen one of your kind in a very long time.” They glance momentarily at Jim before turning back to him, “Your name is Spock, I presume? Shall I take a look inside your mind as well, Spock?”

Spock tries to move away from the Messiah’s touch, but he’s held rigidly in place. They place their fingers on his temple, and Jim is terrified that Spock is about to experience the same splitting pain that he did just a few minutes ago. He’s not sure what he’ll do if he has to witness Spock being tortured like that. 

But just as the Messiah presses their cold claws to Spock’s temple, they suddenly pull back their hand with a hiss as though they’ve been burned. There’s a triumphant sparkle in Spock’s eyes.

The Messiah recovers quickly and meets Spock’s intense glare with something almost like admiration. “I have forgotten how skilled your species is in the art of the mind. Perhaps you’ll become more compliant after I’ve done a more thorough examination of your friend.” 

Spock’s face goes pale at the Messiah’s words. In a panicked voice, he snarls, “ _ Don’t you dare touch him. _ ”

His possessive inflection catches Jim slightly off guard, but he’s oddly pleased by it. Why is he pleased by it? Fuck, he can’t be thinking about this right now. He’s supposed to be figuring out a plan of escape.

Jim sees the Messiah’s grin turns toothy and evil. They seem to enjoy the way Spock squirms against his captors’ hold as they walk up to Jim with an outstretched hand. Their approach is slow and deliberate, enough to send a chill through Jim’s body.

A bead of sweat trickles down the side of Jim’s face as he anticipates the mind-numbing pain of the Messiah’s telepathic probing. He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, glad at least that Spock is spared from this torment. 

The Messiah’s fingers connect with the skin on his face like icy daggers. Somehow, the psychic force comes on even stronger than before, and Jim can’t control the scream that’s released from his throat. His entire body goes numb and he feels like he’s suddenly been paralyzed from the neck down.

“ _ Wait _ .” 

Jim hears Spock’s voice at the same time that it reverberates inside his mind.

The Messiah pulls away and Jim goes slack, dipping in and out of consciousness. He tries to look up to see what’s going on but his neck is weak and his vision is blurred. Jim can just barely hear over the thunderous sound of his own heart pounding in his ears.

In that same deep, snarling tone, Spock says, “I challenge you to one-on-one combat.”

<><><>

There are unfamiliar voices whispering inside Spock’s mind, a furious cacophony, and he’s unable to tell them apart from his own thoughts. Some of them speak in Common and some speak in his native Vulcan tongue, but all of them cry out for the Messiah’s blood. He can pick out a few of them who chant hungrily, “ _ Kal-if-fee! Kal-if-fee! Kal-if-fee! _ ”

Some primordial instinct brings Spock to ask the Messiah for a challenge. Though he may not be in the traditional setting for the pon farr ritual, and the Messiah has very different motives for claiming Jim than Spock does, he finds significant parallels between his present situation and the passionate fight to the death that constitutes the Vulcan kal-if-fee. 

If he’d been on his home planet, there would be an elaborate ceremony presided by a figure of high Vulcan authority. He would be given the traditional Vulcan weapons for the duel, as would his opponent, and he would engage in a vicious battle for the right to call Jim his mate. Though his current environment is unfamiliar, his body is no less hesitant to perform its biological obligations. He doesn’t need the proper weapons to tear every Borg in the room to shreds.

“I challenge you to one-on-one combat.”

The Messiah finally releases Jim from their wicked claws, turning to face Spock with half amusement and half intrigue. The sight of his captain hanging limply from the drones that hold him sends another flame of anger cutting through his abdomen. Spock meets the Messiah’s gaze with rejuvenated fury.

“What are the terms of this combat?” the Messiah replies mockingly, “You’re poorly outnumbered here, and I have no incentive to play fairly.”

Spock struggles to keep his voice even and calm as he says, “Should you accept my challenge and agree to my terms, I will give you my word that  _ I _ will hold to the terms as well. In the case that you defeat me in one-on-one combat, I willingly submit myself to assimilation and whatever else you wish in exchange for my captain’s freedom. In the case of my victory, my captain and I will be released, along with the planet you are currently invading. You will leave and never return.”

It’s more difficult than he anticipated to maintain a lucid mindset in his current state. The effects of his pon farr are so strong that almost every word he utters comes out in a growl. Spock attempts to remain rational and manages to do so long enough to communicate his terms, but soon after he’s finished his thoughts turn back to bloodthirsty murmurs. 

“You would make a very pretty addition to my collection. A mind of such telepathic ability could be of incredible use to my people.” They look into Spock’s eyes with something twisted and ravenous. Spock looks back with as much malice and hate as he can muster.

From the other side of the room, Jim croaks feebly, “Spock... No...” 

Spock is momentarily flustered by the wetness welling in his captain’s eyes. He droops like a wilting flower, delicate but still so beautiful. He knows Jim is pleading with him not to do this, but looking at him is only making Spock more determined. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for his captain.

The Messiah stands in silence for a moment, and it feels as though the entire ship is holding its breath. The air is thick with suspense that’s difficult for him to swallow.

“Do you accept?” 

Spock tries to provoke the Messiah with his eyes, begging for a fight. The desire to sink his teeth into their neck is bubbling up inside him, just below the surface. He’s hoping the Messiah has too much pride to turn down his challenge.

Just as he’d suspected, their mouth curves into a wicked grin. “Your people are known for their integrity, I don’t doubt you will abide by the terms. I accept. Please do me the honor of showing exactly what you’re capable of.”

Spock feels adrenaline pumping through his veins as he’s freed from the iron grip of his Borg captors. His muscles flex almost on their own, preparing for the throwing of powerful blows. His fingers fold immediately into tight fists, like springs being compressed, mere seconds away from release. He will indeed show exactly what he’s capable of.

Rising to his feet, he feels a telepathic nudge from Jim. A flash of worry expresses his captain’s concern for him, but Spock pushes the concern away. He builds a wall in his mind, blocking Jim from entering, knowing that he will only pose a distraction to him during his duel. The last thing he wants to do is push Jim away, but it will all have been worth it if his captain can walk free from this. Regardless, it is in Jim’s best interest that he not get a glimpse of Spock’s mind when he finally gives into his primal rage.

Out of the corner of his eye, Spock notices drones lining up in front of the exits, blocking any path of escape. It doesn’t trouble him, he has no intention of running from this fight. He drops into a defensive stance, his eyes tracking his opponent’s every move with predatory attention.

A tall, stocky drone with one glowing red eye and one mechanical arm on its opposite side advances towards the center of the room. It stands at attention, and Spock is about to object to this violation of the duel’s terms when the Messiah walks up to the drone and presses their fingers to its temple.

Suddenly, the Messiah’s body collapses to the floor. At the same time, the drone’s limbs one by one begin to move and stretch themselves out, as though the life has been drained from the Messiah and injected into this new vessel. Several other drones appear and drag the Messiah’s lifeless form away.

The drone cracks its neck to either side and speaks in a deep voice, though with the same cold-blooded tone as the Messiah, “I have every intention of engaging you in one-on-one combat, Spock, but you’ll understand if I don’t use my usual form. My children and I are all part of one larger being, you see, which makes it easy for me to transfer my consciousness between ourselves.”

“What the hell?!” Jim shouts, pulling helplessly against the drones that hold him, “That’s not fair!”

The drone to Jim’s right uses its free hand to strike him across the face. He groans and spits blood onto the floor.

“Silence! You will not interrupt us, Captain.” the Messiah hisses from their new form.

Spock snarls at the Messiah’s abuse of Jim, his vision growing green with unbridled wrath. He clenches his fists tighter as the animal inside of him awakens. The insidious  _ plak tow _ sweeps over his entire body, a shiver running down his spine, and Spock lets the floodgates inside his mind open. A bellowing roar rises up from his throat and he lunges at the Messiah.

His fist connects with the metal palm of the Messiah’s robotic hand, and their glowing red eye seems to sparkle with cruel merriment. The Messiah’s fingers latch onto his and twist with alarming speed. Spock’s arm bends at a sickening angle and he lets out a cry, more out of anger than pain. 

Twisting in the same direction as his arm, Spock swings his leg up and collides the hard ridge of his kneecap into the Messiah’s fleshy side. The Messiah lets go of his fist and stumbles backwards, a look of surprise on their face.

Barely taking any time to recover, they come rushing back at Spock with a bionic fist. He dodges the attack and lets his opponent’s figure glide past him, their back to Spock. With a quick movement, Spock slips one arm around the junction of the Messiah’s mechanical arm and their shoulder. His other arm locks around their neck and yanks it back with as much force as he can. 

Spock hears a snap, and he thinks for a moment that he’s won, but then he’s shoved backwards with a blow to the stomach. He manages to catch his balance before falling to the ground, and he looks up to see the Messiah’s head bent unnaturally to one side. Their movements are slightly uncoordinated as they make their way to the nearest drone.

Before he can do anything to stop it, the Messiah has already transferred their consciousness to a new drone. The previous drone hits the floor with a clang, discarded and broken. The things this being calls their children are really no more than tools to carry out the Messiah’s bidding, easily tossed aside once they’ve outgrown their usefulness. Spock doubts that the Messiah knows what “family” truly means.

“You won’t be able to get rid of me that easily.” the Messiah laughs in a crackling, robotic voice.

Spock gnashes his teeth and lunges again. The Messiah’s latest vessel is almost entirely bionical, with one forearm that’s been replaced by a miniature phaser cannon. He has to stay within close range to avoid getting blasted, but several of the drones lining the edges of the room aren’t so lucky. Each fire of the cannon sounds with a fiery bang that echoes throughout the metal chamber. 

Though he’s not digging into flesh, the feeling of cables and circuitry pulling free from their sockets is equally satisfying. A noxious fluid drips down the Messiah’s form and pools onto the floor, and Spock has to be careful not to slip in it. The smell of it is dizzying.

For a split second, he can feel the heat of the cannon as it points up under his chin and he knows that if it fires it would easily burn off the skin of his face. Hearing the sound of it charging up, he grips it tight and directs it towards the Messiah. A bright light flashes before his eyes and he can now see a hole going straight through their shoulder to the wall behind them. Instead of seeing meat and bone, he sees a gaping wound of charred metal.

Once again, he’s knocked back right when his opponent is at their weakest, which gives the Messiah plenty of time to acquire an undamaged body. Spock, on the other hand, is beginning to feel his efforts having an effect on his performance. The cycle of savage combat continues anew just when he thinks he has the upper hand. There’s a tiny voice in the back of his mind that’s calculating his slim chance of victory.

Sweat has soaked his uniform so that it clings to his body. His heart rate is exceeding the normal range by a considerable margin and his breathing is growing increasingly strained. His whole body is covered in various cuts and bruises which he pays no mind to, despite how they sting when he moves. He also tries not to be overly concerned by the decrease in his reaction time. Nothing matters except demolishing the Messiah.

Just as the anger in him starts to turn into desperation, he hears Jim’s voice from across the room, “ _ Don’t give up yet, Spock! _ ” In a barely discernible whisper he adds, “Please...”

The sound of his distraught voice echoes inside of Spock’s mind like a distant call to battle. It brings forth a power in him from a place long forgotten, only now unleashed for his greatest hour of need. Jim’s fervent encouragement is a sign of his belief in Spock, even a sign of how much he cares, and Spock refuses to let himself be defeated in front of his captain. He refuses to fail Jim and leave him to suffer at the hands of such diabolical creatures. The possibility sickens him.

This ray of hope shines down on Spock with dazzling brilliance, and after being knocked down for the hundredth time, he once again rises to his feet. He won’t submit if it’s the very last thing he does. Besides, he hasn’t yet shown the Messiah  _ everything _ that he’s capable of.

The Messiah’s current form is mostly flesh except for mechanical feet that begin just above the knee. Their footsteps are thunderous as they stalk towards him with unsettling calmness. Spock lowers his stance and prepares to attack with all his might.

He allows the Messiah to swing and miss before ramming into them with the full weight of his body. His shoulder collides with the Messiah’s sharp chin as they come crashing to the ground. Spock recovers from the fall quickly, sitting up and digging his knee into the Messiah’s neck to keep them in place.

“I will allow you no chance of escape.” Spock declares with feverish conviction, watching the Messiah scratching at his leg and gasping for air.

With surprising strength, even to himself, he takes hold of one of the Messiah’s legs and pulls hard enough to hear bones crack in half. His adversary shrieks in response, writhing helplessly underneath him. He grips their limb harder, twisting at the joint until he feels it come loose. The look of amusement is gone from the Messiah’s face, they’ve now realized that Spock might truly be capable of beating them. Finally, he’s beginning to enjoy this.

He stands over the Messiah, holding their severed lower leg in his hands. Although it’s almost completely solid metal, he has no trouble lifting it over his shoulder. The Messiah looks up at their own body part with wide eyes that shine wet with fear. Spock holds it there for a moment to enjoy the way his enemy quivers pitifully, and he licks his lips with delirious bloodlust.

Just as he hears the mechanical thud of another drone approaching, he brings the Messiah’s limb down on their other leg with a foul crunch of flesh, bone, and metal. The Messiah shrieks again, unable to get up now that both of their legs are destroyed. Spock has them right where he wants them.

He tastes his own blood in his mouth as he looms over his adversary’s wretched figure. His heart is pounding and he feels as though every nerve in his body has been electrically charged. The wild animals that reside inside him are crying out with glee at the spilling of blood. He’s detached entirely from who he was before his pon farr, and all that remains now is something entirely feral. For the first time in so long, he no longer has to hold back or suppress his desires. He is finally free.

The drones that were once guarding the doorways have begun to circle around him, gradually closing in. Considering that they’re no longer in a position to fight, the Messiah seems to be violating the terms of their duel. No matter, this will be over soon enough.

As the horde of drones advance towards him, Spock rasps under his breath, “I’m not finished with you yet.”

The Messiah is dragging themself across the floor, reaching for the nearest drone with an outstretched hand. They leave a double trail of dark fluid behind them, one for each gushing leg wound, like some kind of monstrous snail.

Spock digs his heel into the Messiah’s fingers before they can reach another vessel, feeling the bones popping apart under his foot. 

The Messiah howls in anger, “ _ This body is temporary, but I am forever! _ ”

They claw at him desperately with their last remaining hand. Spock barely notices as their fingers break the skin of his calf and draw a stream of dark green blood. He’s preoccupied by the mass of drones that continue to pour into the room, surrounding him until he can barely see past three feet in front of him.

He must act quickly if he wishes to survive, the chance of victory against so many Borg is well below one percent. But he’s not here to defeat hundreds of mindless soldiers, he has only one real enemy here. 

Looking down at the Messiah’s frothing mouth, Spock shoves them face down onto the floor with his foot. Grabbing both of their hands with an iron grip, he holds the Messiah down so tightly that he can hear more bones cracking beneath his weight. He slides his fingers up the sides of their face to the Messiah’s meld points, and within seconds the Messiah is paralyzed with terror.

Spock grins and forces himself into the Messiah’s mind. The rabid beast of his pon farr invades their psyche with unrelenting might, ripping and tearing at the very fabric of the Messiah’s being. 

Their mind is a spiraling maze of connections to hundreds, if not thousands, of other beings, and Spock realizes that he’s now inside the hivemind. At first, he’s horrified by it, by the thought that each of these other entities were once innocent people with feelings and ambitions. As he works his way through the never ending network, Spock becomes accustomed to the branching pathways of bonds, enough to send out one last command to the Messiah’s cyborg army.

In this moment, Spock is grateful for the rapid spread of information through the hivemind, knowing that his command will be passed on to those drones he can’t reach from here. Once he’s sure the message has been sent, he begins to sever the Messiah’s connections to their drones one by one. It feels like pulling on a rubber band until it snaps.

He’s only vaguely aware of the drones that still surround his physical body, but now that he’s in control he simply has to order them to stop. They all freeze in their places, as if time itself has stopped. The possession of so much power over so many beings brings Spock a rush of pleasure that he’s never experienced before, even as a Starfleet captain. No wonder the Messiah perceived themself as a god, the power they hold is intoxicating.

Spock winds through the branches of the hivemind with precision, enjoying every shattered connection between minds. It only takes the severing of connections stemming from the Messiah’s brain to make the whole structure come crumbling down. He knows that each slice of an interneural attachment must be painful, as it’s considered an unspeakable war crime by Vulcan culture to forcefully break a mental bond between two people. He should be horrified by his own actions, yet he’s relishing in it like it’s some sweet, forbidden fruit. More than anything, though, it is satisfying his _ plak tow _ to no end. His pon farr is feasting on the violence with delight.

After some time, Spock splits the last connection in the hivemind. He lingers within the Messiah's mind to watch the massive network collapse in on itself, bursting in a rainbow of colors like a dying star. It makes no noise, but Spock can feel the intensity of it coursing like a shockwave through his own mind. Then, as if there had never been anything at all, the Messiah is left with nothing but a hollow shell of what once was.

Drawing back to himself, Spock awakens with a shaky breath. He gazes to the Messiah’s figure below him, watching as tears leak down their face. They look emptily to the side, still face down on the floor where Spock pinned them. He knows that what he’s done to the Messiah might as well have been murder, because there’s no chance of recovering from the damage that’s been inflicted. The body remains, but the consciousness has been squeezed dry of its essence. Spock releases them and gets slowly to his feet.

As he surveys the consequences of his actions, he realizes that the fog of his pon farr has cleared from his mind. Despite everything, he’s survived.

<><><>

Jim is startled when the drones holding him suddenly let go. He manages to catch himself before he hits the ground, and he looks around in confusion.

The room is filled with a crowd of Borg drones from wall to wall. The part that’s really throwing him for a loop is that none of them are moving. They’re posed as if in the midst of battle, arms and weapons raised, frozen like statues. 

Not a single one of them notices as he stands up and rubs the bruises around his wrists. His joints ache from being held in the same position for so long, and it takes him a second to shake the dizziness from his head. He feels like he’s been run over by a herd of angry bulls. 

But he’s not worried about his injuries right now, the only thing on his mind is Spock. The last thing he remembers is the frightening picture of Spock beating the Messiah with their own bionic leg, which was equal parts morbid and kind of badass. After that, drones started flooding the room, blocking both Spock and the Messiah from Jim’s sight.

His thoughts are racing a mile an hour imagining what might’ve happened. He pushes his way through the sea of motionless Borg, searching desperately for a glimpse of his first officer. For all he knows, Spock could be lying dead at the Messiah’s feet right now, maimed and bloody. It’s a terrifying thought.

But, no, that can’t be right. Surely Jim would’ve felt something in his mind if Spock were dead. He can still sense their bond, though it doesn’t pulse with the same intensity as before. It feels calmer now. 

Jim finally breaks free from the crowd and finds Spock standing silently above the Messiah’s misshapen form. He pauses at the sight of him standing there, holding his breath as he wonders if Spock might still be in the violent throes of pon farr. Despite Jim’s worry, a wave of overwhelming relief washes over him knowing that at least Spock is alive.

For several palpable seconds, everything is still. Then, Spock’s face turns up slowly to meet Jim’s gaze. If Jim were anyone else, Spock’s expression would appear blank, but because Jim knows him, he sees the emotion just under the surface. A deep well of shame and guilt is buried in Spock’s eyes, so deep that Jim thinks he might fall into it if he holds their gaze for any longer. It pains him to see Spock feeling this way.

“Spock...” Jim whispers, hesitant to break the silence.

He doesn’t respond, he only looks back down at the Messiah’s corpse. Jim can tell by the downward slope of his shoulders that although he’s won this battle, it’s taken its toll on Spock. His uniform is shredded and bloody, stained by green as well as oily black. His hands are covered entirely by gore and his usually perfect hair is now hanging in disheveled strands against his forehead. Yet, Jim has never been more in love with someone in his life.

He doesn’t wait for Spock to say anything before walking up to him and wrapping his arms around him. Jim buries his face into Spock’s shoulder, not even caring that both of them smell like sweat and death. His hands grip Spock’s back and he squeezes tight. He never wants to let go.

A moment later, Spock brings his arms up to return the embrace. It’s warm and desperate and the best thing that Jim’s ever felt in his life. This place right here, in Spock’s arms, is exactly where he’s supposed to be, forever and ever. It’s as if he’s finally come home after a lifelong journey. Good god, he was so close to losing this.

Minutes pass, neither of them paying any mind to the fact that they’re still surrounded by vicious mechanical demons, frozen or not. Nothing matters except for the two of them, and Jim wouldn’t want it any other way. His heartbeat gradually begins to slow to a normal pace, and he can feel Spock’s heart do the same.

Jim pulls back to look at Spock, and their eyes meet with a passion that takes his breath away. He doesn’t even realize that he’s crying until Spock lifts up his thumb to swipe it tenderly across his cheek. Eyes still locked, Jim catches Spock’s hand in his, wanting to maintain the touch for as long as he can. 

Spock’s eyebrows bunch together so dejectedly that it breaks Jim’s heart, and he presses the pads of his fingers to Spock’s, a Vulcan kiss, in an effort to comfort him. Spock’s eyes widen, but Jim doesn’t leave him guessing what the gesture means. 

Tentatively, Jim presses gently into Spock’s mind, feeling for the walls that were blocking him out earlier. Sensing no resistance, he presses further, just enough to push his emotions into Spock’s mind. In the surge of feelings that he lays out for Spock to see, he puts everything he’s been feeling for these past weeks. The worry, the pining, the tension, the desperation, all of it. How else is he supposed to show Spock exactly how much he means to him?

He knows he’s taking a risk right now, but, hell, he’s in a good mood. He’s not sure if anything could ruin this moment, even rejection. He knows he would’ve had to confess eventually, and he’s not sure if he’ll ever get another chance.

After the flood of information, Jim pulls back to let Spock take it all in. He basically just poured his whole heart out through their bond, which is no small thing. Meeting his gaze again, Spock searches Jim’s eyes with alarming scrutiny, as if he can’t quite believe that what Jim has shared with him is true. Jim looks back at him with the same intensity, leaving his mind entirely unshielded and open for him to see.

Spock’s expression shifts to something warmer and sweeter as he uses his other hand to cup Jim’s face. Jim is momentarily overwhelmed by the fact that he’s completely and fully enveloped in Spock, who he’s barely ever touched in passing before this. He didn’t know that having Spock’s hands on him would feel this damn good. Their mouths are only inches away from one another, and it would take barely any effort at all to lean in and close the distance. Thinking about it makes his head swim.

The moment is over when Bones’ voice emanates from Spock’s comm, “Commander Spock, are you there? Are you alright?!”

Jim clears his throat nervously as they separate, his body feeling suddenly cold without Spock next to him. He tries to hide the shiver that runs through him at their parting.

Spock looks away quickly, picking up his comm. “Yes, I’m here with the captain.”

“Oh, thank god,” Jim hears Bones sigh in relief, “you’re alive! I can’t believe I’m happy that the hobgoblin is alive! Jim’s okay too?”

Jim leans over to speak into Spock’s comm, “Yeah, I’m fine. Have you heard from Sulu?”

“Yeah, the backup team found him and they’ve all beamed back to the ship in one piece. What happened exactly?”

“We don’t have time for that right now, Lieutenant Commander,” Spock interrupts, “any moment now this vessel is going to warp into deep space and self-destruct.”

“What? How do you know that?” Jim asks incredulously.

“Because I ordered them to.”

Jim’s breath catches in his throat, and Spock avoids his eyes. There’s a brief beat of silence.

“Well, shit,” Bones exclaims from the comm, “we better get you guys out of there fast. You both ready to beam back?”

Jim has to take a moment to collect himself, his insides are all scrambled from the emotional roller coaster that has been the last several hours. He’s not sure if things will be the same when they go back to the Enterprise, but he can’t wait here forever.

After a deep breath, Jim finally replies, “Yes, we’re ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahaha that was intense i swear these two are going to get a break soon. let me know what you guys think about the how the climax of the fic played out! as always thank you for reading <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, thanks for your patience! school and life have been getting in the way of my writing, unfortunately. here's a chapter full of fluff as a thank you!

Jim wakes up in the medbay to the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. It’s not his first time waking up to this sound. He sure hopes he didn’t die for a second time.

He’d spent the hour after beaming back onto the Enterprise trying to orchestrate the return of several hundred refugees who had already boarded the ship back onto the surface of Remaldia. It required a lot of coordination with Uhura, who was still planetside managing diplomatic relations with the Remaldian Council. Jim had promised to request resources from the Federation to help Remaldia rebuild after the Borg invasion, and accepted many thanks that he wasn’t sure he deserved.

He remembered it being difficult to focus on the task at hand when his thoughts were still almost entirely preoccupied with his first officer. As far as Jim knew at the time, Spock had already been sent to the medbay to have his wounds tended to. Jim had been more stubborn on that end, and refused to be treated even after incessant nagging from Bones. 

Part of him had wanted to make up for how much of a helpless idiot he’d been on the Borg ship. He knew it didn’t really matter, that there wasn’t anything he actually could have done in his situation and that no one even knew what happened except for Spock. He also knew that it didn’t make him any less of a captain, but then why did he feel so ashamed? Is he a failure because his first officer had to swoop in and single-handedly save his ass?

He evidently didn’t have to worry about it for long because his memory goes blank after that. The only explanation is that he passed out, either from exhaustion or his injuries or both. Jim is a little embarrassed that he really let his pride keep him from going to the medbay voluntarily as opposed to being carried in on a stretcher. Bones must have been furious.

As his eyes flutter open, he winces from the brightness of the artificial fluorescent lights. His head is pounding at a ridiculous pace, and his body is sore in places he didn’t even know he could be sore. He moves just enough to feel a patch of numb skin on his thigh where he’d been more seriously wounded. It probably required stitches, and he’s grateful that Bones decided to give him local anesthetic before administering them. The rest of him isn’t so lucky.

The smell of antiseptic and standard issue bedsheets is somewhat comforting, and it helps to ease him back into consciousness. There’s another smell in the air, too, something musky and familiar.

It’s then that he notices Spock sitting in a chair by the side of his bed, and he jumps a little in surprise. Spock is looking at him intently.

“You’re awake.” His voice is low and calming.

“Yeah,” Jim replies slowly, simultaneously uneasy and comforted by Spock’s presence, “what happened?”

Spock’s face remains neutral as he says, “You fell unconscious from blood loss because you repeatedly declined medical attention.”

Jim sighs, somewhat disappointed that their conversation is beginning with a lecture. “I’m sure I’ll get chewed out about that plenty by Bones, so no need to strain yourself.”

“I experience no physical or mental exertion in reminding you to take care of yourself,” Spock raises an eyebrow, “however, it would be considerably preferable if I did not have to remind you at all.”

Jim closes his eyes for a moment, feeling Spock’s gaze on him and the way it’s making his face heat up. He’s not quite sure how to respond to Spock’s very outspoken concern for him, especially when it makes him feel a little guilty for his own carelessness. He hates to think that he’s been a burden to someone else.

“Well, I’m clearly fine now, and I promise I’ll remember to be careful from this point on.” Jim says, turning away slightly to hide the color that he knows is on his cheeks.

He hears Spock get up from his seat and step closer to him. “A promise is a very serious thing to make, Jim. Do you truly intend to keep it?”

Jim opens his eyes at the emotion in Spock’s voice. He’s still looking at Jim intently, but now there’s something pleading in his eyes. It catches him off guard.

He’s thinking about that moment on the Borg ship again, the way they held each other with such heartfelt tenderness. He remembers the way Spock had fought so hard for him, tearing drones to pieces and challenging the Messiah to deadly combat just to set him free. It makes his throat close up with a feeling he can’t quite name. 

He tries to sit up in his biobed, a response to Spock’s question on the tip of his tongue, but he’s stopped by a shooting pain from his thigh. Jim puts a hand on his leg, his thoughts momentarily interrupted. 

“May I?” Spock asks, almost shyly, gesturing to Jim’s injury.

His heart skips a beat before he says, “Yeah, sure.” 

Pulling open the bedsheets, Jim’s skin immediately rises in goosebumps as it meets the chill air of his private medbay room. He curses the Borg who sliced him for doing it so high on his leg and tries not to be embarrassed by pulling his flimsy medical gown up a few more inches. 

Why is he suddenly shy of his body? Captain James T. Kirk is not one to be afraid of showing some skin. At least, not usually. 

“I would like to apologize,” Spock begins absentmindedly, his eyes focused on the barely-visible line of blue stitches running across Jim’s thigh, “for any inconvenience you might have been caused from our mental attachment.”

Jim freezes at the mention of their bond. He’s relieved that they’re finally talking about it, considering he’s not really sure exactly what it is, but he’s afraid of what Spock might say about it. Maybe he’ll want to get rid of it, to sever the link that’s grown between them. He doesn’t want to let go just yet.

He chooses his words carefully as he replies, “Oh, Bones told me your... um... your condition might affect me because of our connection, but I didn’t notice any symptoms or anything like that. I guess it wasn’t, uh... it wasn’t strong enough?”

“I’m glad to hear that my pon farr wasn’t transferred to you, I would never forgive myself if it had been. Though you may not have experienced any symptoms of my pon farr, I am nearly certain that you’ve experienced other effects.” He continues to fixate on Jim’s stitches, the pad of his finger hovering delicately over his thigh in a way that does nothing to help the swarm of nervous bees in Jim’s stomach. This halfway place between being touched and not touched is driving him crazy.

He searches Spock’s face for answers. “What do you mean?” 

“I realize it wasn’t intentional,” Spock begins, speaking slow and even, “but you shared a memory with me during our encounter earlier...”

If Jim thought his face was already hot, it’s boiling now, because there’s only one thing that Spock could be talking about.

“Um, I don’t know how much of that you saw, but I swear it was just a dream-”

“Jim,” he interrupts, and the way Spock says his name takes the breath right out of his lungs, “you have no need to explain yourself. I must confess that the blame is on me for the visions you may have had. I was in a deep meditative state, and I believe I may have unintentionally drawn you into that state with me through our bond.”

It takes Jim a minute to fully process what Spock is trying to tell him. He might be crazy, but it seems like Spock is telling him that Jim was in _Spock’s_ dream. Or they were both in the same conjoined dream? Regardless, Jim is trying to wrap his mind around the fact that not only has Spock seen that split second of the dream that Jim accidentally shared with him, but Spock was there in the dream with him, experiencing it _with_ him, the _entire time_.

He tries to sit up in his bed again, but he has to lay back down when his body protests. A disgruntled hiss escapes his mouth.

Spock gets up quickly, a flash of worry passing across his face as he says, “I didn't mean to alarm you, I understand that my actions have been a grave violation of your privacy. I also apologize sincerely for any discomfort that it may have caused you. At the time, my symptoms made rational thinking difficult, and had I known that you were consciously present in my vision, I assure you I wouldn’t have acted so rashly.”

Jim looks into his pleading eyes, which betray a remorse even stronger than that betrayed by his words. It’s startling to see Spock so desperately ashamed. He has no reason to be, he’d been experiencing all kinds of biological changes that were out of his control. 

God, the way he talks makes it sound like Spock assaulted him or something. If only he knew that Jim thought that _he_ was the one who had assaulted _Spock_ with his weird sexual fantasies.

It would be just like his first officer to overreact about something so small. Jim actually finds it relieving to know that Spock is in no way angry or upset with him. Spock really just saved Jim’s life and the lives of thousands of people and he has the audacity to be _sorry_? Jim makes a mental note that Spock gets a free pass to get on his nerves whenever he feels like it for the rest of eternity.

The absurdity of it all makes him grin stupidly, which escalates to a delirious chuckle. Spock responds with a look of pure puzzlement.

Jim gazes up at Spock, who stands over him with a ridiculous look on his face that makes Jim want to kiss him. He never would’ve guessed in a million light years that this would be the person that he falls head over heels for. Then again, after everything they’ve been through together it’s not so unbelievable. They’re tied to each other in a way that nothing in the universe could possibly take away from them. Jim owes Spock his life ten times over, so why not give him his heart too? 

Jesus, he’s really becoming a sappy romantic.

“You remember what I shared with you after your fight with the Messiah?” Jim asks softly, calling the moment to mind in vivid detail.

Spock’s face turns serious as he says, “Yes, of course.”

“Then you know how I feel about you.”

Spock is silent. Jim holds his gaze with half determination and half fear, knowing that Spock may not feel the same way but knowing he’s going to get this off his chest if it’s the last thing he does. If there’s anyone that Jim would trust his true feelings with, it would be Spock. Knowing that Spock already cares for him makes it that much easier for Jim to say the next few words.

After a deep breath, he says, “Spock, I love you.”

For several heavy seconds, Jim has entirely forgotten how to breathe. The world has narrowed down to just Spock’s eyes looking back at him. He’s getting lost in them, drowning in their dark depths.

Spock leans in and supports himself on the side of Jim’s biobed, his lip quivering ever so slightly as he asks, “Do you... truly mean that?”

He holds his hand out for Spock to take, which he does with the cautiousness of someone who’s being handed the most valuable object in the world. At the first warm touch of their fingers, Jim floods Spock once more with his feelings, this time more certain and less frantic than before.

Jim repeats himself, telepathically as well as out loud, “ _I love you._ ”

A hundred different expressions cross Spock’s face at his words. He leans harder onto Jim’s bed as though he’s having trouble standing, and suddenly their faces are just inches apart. Spock is staring down at him with a look so very different from the one he had earlier, when he looked so deeply and heartbreakingly apologetic. He’s looking at Jim like he’s just been given everything he’s ever wanted in life. Jim is speechless.

Their breath is mingling, and Jim feels himself getting dizzier with every inhale. God, what he wouldn’t give to have Spock’s lips on his right now. 

Something passes between their bond and Jim barely has time to wonder whether he unintentionally shared that thought with Spock before his breath is swept away but Spock’s mouth. 

The kiss is unbelievably tender, so sweet and soft that Jim thinks he might melt in his bed. Their hands untangle and Jim is grounded by Spock’s rough palm cradling his jaw. Spock’s lips are hot and supple against Jim’s, nothing at all like he’d expected. He’s never been kissed like this before.

He gasps for air when their mouths part, his lungs filling with the taste of Spock. Just one kiss, not even with tongue, and Jim is already blissed out of his mind.

“Wait,” Jim pants, one thought still nagging at him, “you’re not just doing this because of your mating cycle or whatever, right?”

Spock’s grip on Jim’s jaw tightens slightly. “Since the termination of my pon farr, I have not desired you any less, Jim. Every cell in my body yearns for you.”

Spock turns to press a gentle kiss to Jim’s temple. His lips send a telepathic message to him in the rhythmic syllables of Vulcan: _Ashau nash-veh tu_.

He may not speak Vulcan, but the meaning of the words are conveyed to him through their bond. A wave of warmth and love wash over him, complete euphoria. There’s a lump in Jim’s throat and he thinks he might start crying from how good it feels. God, who would’ve guessed that Spock would actually love him back?

Their eyes lock again for only a second before Jim pulls Spock into another kiss, hungry and lustful. He opens Spock’s mouth with his tongue, which Spock responds to with a reverberating hum in the back of his throat. Their tongues meet with heated passion.

Jim slips one hand to the back of Spock’s neck, the other pulling at his hip, doing anything and everything he can to bring their bodies closer together. Spock is still standing by the side of Jim’s biobed, leaving a devastating gap between them. Jim practically hauls Spock up onto the bed with him, he’s so desperate for contact. 

Spock receives Jim’s endeavors with a startled exhale of air between kisses, allowing him to bring one of Spock’s knees between his legs. Despite Jim’s earnestness, Spock is careful not to put any of his weight on him. 

But Jim couldn’t care less about his injuries. What are a couple of aches and pains when making out with Spock is the greatest thing he’s ever felt? Besides, his body seems to be enjoying this if the blood rushing to his groin means anything. The pressure of Spock’s muscular thigh against Jim’s is awakening a sexual appetite in him that he hasn’t had in years.

“Jim...” Spock murmurs during their breaks for air, as if trying to object to the impulsiveness of their situation.

Each time, Jim silences him with his lips, knowing damn well that he’s being rash but not caring one bit. If he could have his way, he’d have Spock right here in the medbay, skin pressed against skin. He can feel the tight ball of need growing in the pit of his stomach, begging for more. He wants to feel Spock and have Spock feel him back.

The door of the medbay room opens with a distinct click. Bones clears his throat loudly.

Jim feels the absence of Spock between his thighs, and suddenly Spock is standing beside Jim’s bed with his hands behind his back, looking as though he didn’t just have his tongue in his captain’s mouth a few seconds ago. Jim coughs and focuses on adjusting the bedsheets to avoid seeing the expression on Bones’ face.

“Well,” he begins, “I’m glad to see you’re awake and already recovering.”

“Y- yep! I’m feeling great!” Jim stammers, his cheeks burning.

Spock steps aside quickly to let Bones come over to the side of Jim’s bed, his eyes fixated on a point on the wall.

“I’m just gonna check your stitches and your vitals and pretend I didn’t see that.” Bones waits for Jim to pull the sheet aside before leaning down to examine him. “For the record, though, I would appreciate it if you two kept this shit to your quarters in the future.”

Jim grins nervously, “Noted.”

Bones pulls out his datapad and begins typing. “It looks like your stitches are healing well, which is good. No signs of infection. I’m still going to keep you on antibiotics for the next week or so just to be sure.” He turns to Spock and says, “Commander Spock, please keep an eye on Jim’s condition and make sure he’s not using the analgesic hypos too often.”

“I would be happy to, Doctor.” Spock replies firmly.

“What?! I’m the captain of this ship, do you really think I can’t handle myself?” Jim folds his arms over his chest, his embarrassment forgotten in his annoyance at being treated like a child.

Bones gives him that condescending look that he always does when Jim does something stupid. “Based on your behavior as of late, Jim, I don’t think so. It took a liter and a half of blood to leave your body before you came to the medbay.”

Jim frowns but doesn’t argue back.

“I figure you both need some rest after what happened the other day, and I’m sure neither of you would mind a little honeymoon getaway for the next few days. I suggest you wait until Jim’s stitches have healed completely before you do any _strenuous_ activity, though.” Bones eyes them both as he puts together a bag of hypos.

He and Spock continue to look pointedly at anything besides each other or Bones. 

Bones sighs indignantly, “Oh, come on. You’re both acting like a couple of virgin schoolboys. As a doctor who’s been working on this ship for the better part of a decade, I’ve seen far too much to avoid talking about uncomfortable subjects.”

“I appreciate your directness, Doctor,” Spock says, “I’ll make sure that the captain doesn’t do anything to impede his immediate recovery.”

“Good,” Bones hands Spock the bag of hypos and turns to Jim, “should I get a wheelchair or do you want the crutches?”

Jim protests loudly at the idea of being wheeled around the ship like an old man, opting instead for the crutches. It’s already bad enough that Bones basically just cock-blocked him in front of Spock. He’s really not looking forward to laying in bed for hours on end, especially when Spock clearly cares too much about his health to disobey the doctor’s orders.

Spock holds the door open for Jim as he gets the crutches situated under his arms. The feeling is slowly coming back to his upper thigh and it’s starting to hurt. He grits his teeth.

Bones helps him adjust the crutches and says in a low voice, “I can’t believe you’ve been seduced by the hobgoblin.”

“Who says he was the one doing all the seducing?” Jim replies with a wink.

Jim notices the corner of Spock’s mouth turn up in a smirk for a fraction of second before his expression turns neutral again. 

As Bones watches Jim and Spock exit the medbay and head for their quarters, he grumbles just under his breath, “I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

<><><>

Spock escorts Jim to his room despite the fact that Jim makes it abundantly clear that he’s not in need of assistance. His assurances are largely ignored, and Spock remains by his side every step of the way.

He isn’t satisfied until Jim collapses heavily onto his bed. Spock gets a glass of water and places it on Jim’s bedside table, where he also places the bag of analgesic hyposprays. 

“Should I administer a hypospray? Are you in any pain?” Spock asks, watching Jim adjust the pillows behind his head.

“I’m fine,” Jim insists, “thank you, Spock.”

“Of course. Please alert me if you are in need of anything else.”

Spock begins heading for the door, content to leave Jim alone for some much needed rest, when Jim calls out to him.

“Wait, don’t go.”

Spock stops in his tracks, turning to meet Jim’s imploring eyes. There’s a note of alarm in Jim’s voice that stirs something inside of him. The protectiveness he felt for the captain during his pon farr has not dissipated completely, and part of him still yearns to keep him safe and secure.

He makes his way back to Jim’s bed, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress while giving Jim plenty of space.

“I will stay here with you if that’s what you desire.”

Jim gazes at him with an indecipherable intensity, “I’d like that, though there’s a lot more that I desire.”

Spock puts a hand gently on Jim’s knee, hesitant but curious to explore his newfound ability to be physically affectionate with him, “I’ll do everything in my power to ensure your happiness.”

Jim reaches to put his hand overtop of Spock’s, the pads of his fingers warm and electrifying against Spock’s skin. He senses Jim pressing into his mind through their bond and promptly lowers his mental shields to allow Jim’s entrance. He has nothing to hide from him. He wants Jim to know every facet of himself, inside and out.

“I want to complete our bond.” Jim whispers, his voice small but earnest. 

Spock is momentarily distracted by the way Jim’s thumb is rubbing soothing circles into the back of his hand, as well as by the warm, eager presence of Jim in his mind. It never fails to surprise him just how disarming his captain can be.

“Are you certain?” he insists, “A mental bond is nearly impossible to break.”

Jim grips his hand tight. “I know.”

The conviction in Jim’s voice strikes a chord in him. He was afraid that Jim might not understand the gravity of what he’s asking for, but it seems that that’s exactly why Jim wants to bond with him. To think that he wants to be permanently tethered to Spock, to know him completely and be known by him completely, is almost more than Spock can comprehend. He might even believe it to be irrational if he didn’t also want the same thing. 

This was an unspoken line that even he and Uhura had never crossed. They’d been together for years, they’d been introduced to each other’s families, and yet they had never brought about the subject of a bond. At the time, it had always seemed too extreme. But the idea is different now that it involves Jim.

Spock senses their growing bond in his mind, the one that feels not quite complete. There’s a desire in him to strengthen this connection into the magnificent, all-encompassing union of their beings that he knows it could be. Part of his desire, admittedly, is selfish. He still has yet to fully understand Jim’s motives and behaviors, which he desperately yearns to know. 

He brings his hand up to tenderly caress Jim’s face. “Then it shall be done.”

The smile that spreads across Jim’s lips is dazzling in its brilliance. His presence in Spock’s mind is resonating with a joyous energy which he can’t help but smile back at.

Spock shifts himself further onto the bed, his fingers locking onto Jim’s meld points. There’s a tingling sensation on the tips of his fingers as he presses against Jim’s soft skin. Though he knows he would be able to concentrate more effectively if he closed his eyes, he’s transfixed by the gaze they share. Jim’s eyes are clear, blue pools that glitter in the low light.

He holds their gaze like an anchor as he dives into Jim’s mind. Meeting no resistance, he feels Jim open himself up like a blooming flower for Spock to behold. The center of his being, warm and glowing, flickers with memories of years passed. Spock sees flashes of a woman with golden hair that must be Jim’s mother. He sees glimpses of Jim as a thrill seeking young boy, filled with restless frustration. There are also memories of his older self, too many of which are spent drinking or indulging in temporary pleasures. All of these images are pervaded by a solemn sense of isolation.

It hadn’t occurred to him that Captain James T. Kirk might be lonely, considering that he’s widely recognized for his abilities and well-liked by most everyone he meets. Yet, as he explores Jim’s thoughts, it saddens him to realize how few people truly know him. 

Spock sends a surge of heartfelt compassion to Jim. Unable to articulate the sentiment with words, he vows to drive away every feeling of loneliness with their bond. He tries his best to communicate how honored he is to have the privilege of knowing a man as wonderful and brave as Jim, much less be given the gift of seeing Jim’s true self.

Slowly, the mental bond between them grows. That small part of Spock’s mind that he’s been keeping safely to himself becomes stronger and more difficult to ignore. It fills a void within him until he feels he’s suddenly whole again. The completion of their bond satisfies a desire buried deep inside him that he’d been suppressing for so long. It’s as though they’re being introduced to each other for the first time.

And then, they are one. 

Spock trails his fingers down the side of Jim’s face to rest just below his cheekbone. Jim’s eyes are wide with wonder as he adjusts to the feeling of their telepathic union. 

For a brief moment, Spock fears that Jim might regret his decision now that he knows just how extensive a full mental bond is. His fear is quickly soothed by a rush of reassurance from Jim, and the knot of tension in Spock’s shoulders finally dissolves.

They sit quietly together for several minutes, sending thoughts and emotions back and forth to one another to accustom themselves to this strange, new experience. They feed off of each other’s contentment with eagerness. It’s the closest Spock has ever come to pure ecstasy.

“Thank you.” Jim finally says aloud.

Spock replies softly, “Taluhk nash-veh k’dular.” _I cherish thee._

Jim smiles. “You’re going to have to give me a Vulcan lesson at some point, even though I can sense what you’re trying to tell me.”

“I would be happy to teach you, though I’m afraid I’m the only one you will be able to practice speaking with for the next several years.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Spock tilts his head, curious, “Why do you wish to learn a language that only you and I would be able to speak?”

“Because,” Jim answers in a low voice, “ _Taluhk nash-veh k’dular._ ”

Spock can’t help the heat that rises to his face at hearing his native tongue from Jim’s mouth, as disjointed and unpracticed as it may sound. The affectionate Vulcan phrase immediately leaves him flustered and at a loss for words.

Jim laughs, clearly pleased with himself, and says, “I’ll keep working on it. In the meantime, I think we should both get some rest.”

Spock clears his throat, recollecting himself, “Yes, that would be wise.”

Jim pats the bed next to him. “There’s plenty of room in this bed, if you’d like to join me.”

Spock frowns.

Rolling his eyes, Jim clarifies, “I’m not trying to proposition you, Spock, as much as I’d like to. I just want you beside me.”

His face growing hot again, Spock lets Jim pull him down by his side into the soft sheets. His body is alarmingly aware of the proximity between their bodies, but he manages to keep his heart rate evenly paced. 

They lay face to face in Jim’s bed, Jim’s fingers just barely touching Spock’s. Normally, Spock might feel uneasy with this level of intimacy, but he’s already mentally closer to Jim than he’s ever been with another being. The gesture feels natural and effortless in a way that physical touch usually isn’t for Spock. It’s freeing.

Spock feels a sudden rush of gratitude. The whirlwind of emotions and general _human_ -ness that he’s experienced recently would normally be cause for more rigorous self-discipline, but Jim doesn’t seem to mind. Through their newly formed bond, Jim even seems to be encouraging these feelings in Spock. He’s always been taught that he should be ashamed of such things. Perhaps they were wrong.

He listens to Jim’s rhythmic breathing and lets it lull him into a state of half-consciousness. He can’t help but hope, as he drifts into a peaceful trance, that he might see Jim in his dreams tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter, folks.... next chapter it gets ~steamy~  
> *sidenote: i'd really like to hear what you guys think about who tops/bottoms in this relationship. i mostly see Spock topping in other fics but i feel like maybe they'd switch ever once in a while? idk i'm just curious what ppl think


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhh... happy holidays! have some Spirk!
> 
> [cw: this chapter contains incredibly explicit sexual content]

Waking up next to Spock is one of the most breathtaking experiences Jim has ever had. Something about the slope of his shoulders, the softness of his expression as he sleeps, his warmth spreading through the mattress and seeping into Jim’s skin, just seems too good to be true. God, he can’t even remember the last time he spent the night with someone. Whenever it was, he doesn’t remember feeling so full of butterflies in the morning.

Spock must have sensed his awakening because he shifts slightly, his eyes fluttering open. He catches Jim staring and holds his gaze.

“Good morning,” he says, his voice a little rougher and deeper than usual. It sends a shiver down Jim’s spine. “How did you sleep?”

“Fantastic.” The word comes out a little breathless.

“I’m glad to hear that.” 

There’s a tense hesitation between them. Jim wants to reach out to him, but he’s not sure what Spock is comfortable with. He’s also still adjusting to their shifted dynamic, not quite intimate and not quite professional. It creates a swirl of anxiety and excitement in the pit of his stomach.

Spock’s eyes pierce into him, reading him like an open book. Jim feels his cheeks grow hot and sits up in bed before he gets inescapably lost in his gaze.

“I know you’re going to advise me to stay in bed today,” he begins, already reaching for the crutches, “but there’s no way I’m going to let that happen.”

Spock would be able to sense Jim’s determination even without their bond, so he doesn’t bother arguing. “At the very least, I hope you will permit me to assist you in your trip to the bridge.”

“I suppose I’ll allow it,” Jim replies with a grin, situating the crutches in his armpits. “Now hurry up and get ready, I’m starving.”

Jim feels a wave of affection coming from Spock. “Yes, Captain.”

<><><>

The day is spent running diagnostics on the ship to make sure no damage was sustained during their encounter with the Borg. Except for some minor malfunctions with the transporter after they tried beaming several hundred Remaldians onto the ship, the Enterprise escaped relatively unscathed. The matter of the crew, however, is something else entirely. Jim can’t imagine the stress that many of them must have been under while their highest ranking officers were facing certain death on an enemy vessel.

There’s always a period of time after intense missions where he’s more appreciative of his situation and all of the people that support him. He’s also grateful that the crew don’t treat him any differently than usual even when he comes hobbling onto the bridge like an old man. They probably know better than to insult his pride like that. 

At the end of the day, he collapses onto his bed with a wince, peeling his shirt off. He hears a knock at his door and immediately senses his bondmate waiting patiently on the other side.

“Come in.”

Spock’s eyes expand a degree wider at the sight of his naked chest. Jim enjoys the way he stares for a moment before clearing his throat.

“I hope I’m not intruding.” Spock takes another cautious step towards the bed.

Jim smiles. “Not at all. In fact, I was wondering if you’d like to spend all of your nights here.” 

He would be so lucky to wake up every day with the same feeling as he had earlier this morning. The idea of never feeling alone in those dark, late hours again fills him with a burning satisfaction. He wouldn’t dare overstep his boundaries, though, so he tries to tamp down his growing eagerness.

Jim senses several flashes of emotion from Spock, too quick to distinguish. “I should warn you that I have less need for sleep than the average human, and therefore often spend my nights doing work on my datapad. It would be against my wishes to disturb your valuable rest.”

“It would disturb me more to not have you by my side.” Jim confesses, praying he doesn’t sound too desperate.

Spock’s posture relaxes slightly as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed by Jim’s feet. “Well, if you’re certain.”

He can’t help the grin that spreads across his face then. Jim is positive that Spock will attend to him like a nervous mother for the next week or so, but he’ll put up with all of it just to be in the same room as him. Even now, just sitting on his bed together, is a domestic sort of bliss.

They spend some time discussing the daily operations on the Enterprise as well as various news regarding Starfleet and the Federation. For a while, it’s like nothing has changed between them and they’re back to just being a captain and his first officer. Jim is grateful that at least this aspect of their relationship hasn’t changed, he would despise any amount of awkwardness in their interaction.

Eventually, though, Spock leaves to gather some things from his room, coming back with a modestly sized toiletry bag and some clothes. Jim pretends to be busy looking at something on his datapad as Spock enters the ensuite bathroom. God, Spock is _moving in with him_.

He emerges several minutes later in a simple cotton t-shirt and drawstring pants. Seeing him out of his uniform or anything remotely formal is a pleasant surprise. Jim can’t deny that Spock looks rather attractive in anything he wears, but seeing the way his firm muscles bulge through the thin fabric practically makes Jim’s mouth water. He quickly looks back at his datapad and does his best to remain focused so that his thoughts don’t wander anywhere dangerous.

The mattress dips under Spock’s weight as he settles into bed beside him, pulling out his own datapad. Wouldn’t it be so easy to just slide his hand over the distance between them to rest on Spock’s thigh? Wouldn’t it be so easy to turn his head and lean over to bury his nose into the crook of Spock’s neck? How much effort would it take to slip his fingers under the hem of his shirt and feel the warm skin underneath?

Jim feels his mouth go a little bit dry, his heart rate picking up speed. He squirms in his place to alleviate the pressure that’s starting to build low in his abdomen. God, he hasn’t felt this kind of burning want in years.

“Are you alright, Jim?” Spock asks innocently, sensing the change in his demeanor.

Jim can barely stand to have Spock looking at him so intently like that. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

His gaze still focused pointedly on the screen of his datapad, he feels Spock’s hand rest tenderly on his shoulder. It’s soft and casual, but Jim still has to fight the urge to shiver. 

The skin on skin contact, no clothing to act as a barrier, lets feelings flow between them swiftly and smoothly. Spock sends waves of comfort to settle Jim’s unease, but his touch does the opposite of soothing the longing he feels. As they so often do, his thoughts spin out of control and are projected through their bond in an uncontrollable surge. 

Spock exhales suddenly and takes his hand back like he’s been burned.

Jim stammers, “I- I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-”

Spock interrupts him by setting his datapad on his bedside table and pulling him into a kiss. Jim gasps into his mouth, his lips closing around Spock’s hungrily. He leans over Jim just enough to place a hand solidly around his waist. Jim can’t help his fingers from running up and down Spock’s neck and into the finely trimmed hairs at the back of his head.

Pulling away briefly, Spock rasps, “Even experiencing a _fraction_ of your emotions is intoxicating. No wonder you so often struggle to control yourself.”

Jim laughs as their mouths meet once more. He’s not sure whether he should be insulted by that comment, but at the very least it’s somewhat validating. There’s no doubt that being so close to Spock for so long has been a continuous battle with his self-control. Even now, indulging in his persistent desire, he still craves more.

The hand at Jim’s waist brushes over his abs and rests just above the button of his pants. Spock’s sweet tongue is licking into Jim’s mouth with an eagerness that makes his head spin. The heat of their bodies mingles and envelopes them both in a blanket of yearning, the tangling of their limbs locking them together until he can’t tell where one of them ends and the other begins. He feels like he’s drowning but in the best way possible.

Blood rushes to the place just below Spock’s hand. The muscles in Jim’s thighs tense suddenly and he cries out as pain blooms from his wound.

Spock immediately sits back, his brows bunched together in worry.

“Sorry, I’m okay,” Jim explains quickly.

“Perhaps...” Spock hesitates. “Perhaps we should remain cautious until your injury has healed further.”

Jim bites his lip, trying not to be too disappointed. “Yeah, maybe we should wait.”

The rest of the night is somewhat tense. Spock can probably detect Jim’s frustration, but there’s nothing either of them can do about it. Jim has never been so furious at his own weakness, even if it isn’t his fault and the whole situation is entirely out of his control. He’s not very good at being patient, to say the least. 

It takes him a while to reach a state of relaxation again, but eventually he succumbs to the inevitable pull of sleep, the soft glow of Spock’s datapad the last thing he sees before he drifts off.

<><><>

Jim has been growing increasingly impatient over the last several days as he waits for his injuries to heal. 

Much to Spock’s annoyance, Jim insists on spending the majority of his day on the bridge. He makes his morning trek to the turbolift, then from the turbolift to the captain’s chair, with Spock trailing like an anxious mother close behind him. By the third day, Jim abandons his crutches in favor of limping with his chest puffed in stubborn pride, all the while ignoring Spock’s telepathic messages of concern.

Jim knows he would go crazy if he had to stay in bed all day long. There’s very little that frustrates him as much as helplessness, and it’s ultimately a matter of honor and dignity in his mind. He’s sure that his actions are leading to about as much frustration on Spock’s part, but he appreciates that he isn’t trying to stop him. 

To make up for his stubbornness during the day, he and Spock have started a daily practice in the evenings of checking up on each other’s healing progress. While Jim is more obviously injured from their encounter with the Borg, Spock has plenty of his own wounds to heal. Thank god for modern science speeding up the process for both of them. Those painkilling hypos don’t hurt, either.

They start with Jim’s leg, Jim sitting up in bed with Spock at his side, his pants slid down to his knees and his boxers pushed up to his hip. Spock takes his time to study Jim’s stitches, taking longer than he probably needs to but neither of them complaining. His hands are always gentle and warm on Jim’s skin, and sometimes he can’t help but tremble at his touch.

Then Spock allows Jim to look at his calf where a long, green scar is beginning to form. Jim hadn’t realized before then just how well-toned Spock’s legs are, and during their first evening check-up Jim joking proposes that Spock wear the female Starfleet uniform simply for the sake of showing off his glorious legs. Spock hadn’t found his joke very funny but it was worth it to see the color in his cheeks.

Spock then takes a quick look at the bruise that has been fading from the top of Jim’s right cheekbone. It’s the spot where one of the drones struck him after he’d spoken out of turn. Spock’s fingertips barely graze his skin as he inspects it, and each time Jim can sense the rage that still boils inside him at the memory of The Messiah’s brutal treatment. As much as he hates to see Spock upset, he can’t help feeling warmed by how much he cares. It only takes a quick kiss for Spock’s anger to subside.

Finally, they do a mental check-up. Letting whatever psychic barriers they may have raised during the day fall to pieces, they coalesce through their bond in a comforting dance of energies. 

It took Jim a while to get used to this particular part of their ritual, he’s not used to the very core of himself being put on display for someone else. Eventually, he’s come to realize that the state of one another’s psyche is far more important than any of their physical injuries. Jim sometimes gets glimpses of painful memories in Spock’s mind, but he never pries. They both have deeper wounds on the inside than on the outside.

It usually ends with some light kissing, maybe some chess, and always with a tangle of bodies in bed. Spock has gradually gotten more comfortable with Jim’s yearning for physical contact, and as much as Jim hates to admit it, he realizes that he might be a little bit clingy. If anyone asked him, he’d swear that he’s only this way with Spock.

They haven’t seen each other naked yet, not that Jim is in any way opposed to the idea, but they’ve come to the silent agreement that it wouldn’t be advisable for Jim’s health. During the first few days, Jim was offered help in the shower, but he was too mortified at the idea to accept it. God knows whether they’d be able to control themselves in a situation like that, naked and drenched. He still thinks about it, though.

Spock is almost painfully aware of what is socially appropriate, and overall very hesitant to even toe the line of most physical boundaries, both out of modesty and out of regard for Jim. Jim is afraid to push him too much for fear of making him uncomfortable. 

There have been several mornings where Jim woke up to the aching surprise of an erection, which leads to an awkward fumbling out of bed and quick trip to the bathroom. Each time is even more embarrassingly painful than the last, and Jim is sure he’s not hiding his sexual frustration as well as he tries to.

Jim talked to Uhura about it once during a meal in the mess hall.

“You have to be patient, Jim.” Uhura advised.

He scoffed, “You know I’m not very good at that. Why should I wait?”

“It’ll be worth the wait,” Uhura gave him a devilish smirk, “trust me.”

Her words have been running through his head ever since, mostly because he can’t help but wonder what exactly she meant by them. There’s a streak of jealousy that stings in his chest at the fact that Uhura has been physically closer to Spock than he has, but his emotional closeness with Spock probably evens them out. Ignoring the nagging jealousy, it excites him to think of what might be to come, which has helped to keep his impatience at bay. He has to be careful not to daydream about it while Spock might be tuning into his thoughts.

Five days after waking up in a biobed, Jim sits in the captain’s chair, brooding, trying very hard to remain focused on commandeering his ship while his first officer stands stiffly by his side. Nothing particularly interesting has occurred in the past several days, which is a good thing because he knows the whole crew needs some time to regain their strength. However, it’s not providing the distraction Jim was hoping for. He prays today isn’t another slow day.

As if the universe is heading his call, Sulu calls out to him, “Captain, there’s a disturbance coming from a star system near the edge of the Alpha Quadrant. It appears to be some kind of abnormal radiation pattern.”

Jim sits up in his chair, thrilled at the idea of some action, “We should investigate.”

“That would be unwise, Captain,” Spock cautions from over Jim’s right shoulder, “we have no authority outside of Federation territory. Furthermore, we have not fully recovered from our encounter with the Borg.”

He can’t help the note of irritation in his voice when he replies, “The Borg barely did anything to our resources, our ship is perfectly capable of handling whatever threat we might find. There could be people who need our help.”

They meet each other’s eyes in a silent challenge. He can feel Spock trying to calm him through their bond but Jim isn’t in the mood to be soothed.

Spock furrows his eyebrows. “The area beyond Federation territory is lawless and unpredictable, we don’t have enough information regarding the anomaly to warrant such a risk.”

“The possibility of saving innocent lives is _always_ worth the risk. Besides, isn’t our job to explore the outer reaches of space? Since when did we have to stay cooped up in our little Federation bubble?” 

“Our chances of survival are significantly higher inside our ‘bubble’, as you call it. Exploration is not a valid enough reason to put our entire crew in danger.” Spock seems to be confused and mildly annoyed by Jim’s persistence. 

Of course he’s confused, he doesn’t know that this isn’t just about some strange radiation disturbance at the edge of the galaxy. The frustration of the last few days starts to boil up inside him with each verbal attack and Jim doesn’t know how to communicate it, verbally or otherwise. He feels like a child on the verge of throwing a tantrum, struggling to keep himself under control.

Jim stands and turns to face his first officer, searching his eyes for a sign that Spock is just as desperate as he is. Does Spock want him the way he wants Spock? He thought so, especially after learning that the dream he had a week ago was shared, but now he’s not so sure. Perhaps that was only a symptom of his pon farr.

“Are you questioning my competence as captain of this ship?” he asks through gritted teeth. 

Jim can’t help the way he leans in, using the argument as an excuse to be nearer to him. Spock doesn’t step away, continuing to stand adamantly in place. Jim keeps his hands clenched in fists at his sides, partially out of frustration and partially to keep from putting his hands all over his first officer in front of their crew. Something about the tight line of Spock’s mouth makes him look incredibly kissable right now.

Spock must sense the tension because his reply comes out a little breathless, “No, I would never question your competence.”

From the outside, this probably looks like another bashing of heads between Jim and Spock. The members of the bridge crew are more than used to their disagreements, but this is no normal disagreement. They now have a line of mental communication through their bond that only they can sense.

Spock reaches out to Jim across their psychic bridge with a questioning probe, all the while locking his eyes on Jim’s. He can feel Spock’s apprehension and concern, and he’s grateful that at least he isn’t angry.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Jim tries to convey his emotions without having to put it into words. He inadvertently sends an image into Spock’s mind, an image of the two of them with lips and bodies tangled in passionate heat. He feels his face reddening at the same time that Spock’s cheeks tint slightly green. Thank god no one else knows what’s going on in their heads.

“We should discuss this privately.” Spock says after a pause. He doesn’t seem as confused as he was before.

“Sulu, you have the conn.” Jim says over his shoulder as he follows Spock to the turbolift.

The moment the doors of the turbolift close, and the two of them are alone, Jim is suddenly afraid that Spock is going to scold him for his lack of professionalism. Does he really think he can try and seduce his first officer on the job? He kicks himself for letting his emotions control him like they always do.

But then Spock is pressing himself up against Jim and kissing him with an eagerness that makes Jim gasp. His back against the wall of the turbolift, Jim returns the kiss with a hint of impatience, like he’s been starving for days and is finally being given the sustenance that he needs so badly. Not to mention that the sweet warmth of Spock’s tongue is the best thing he’s ever tasted.

One of Spock’s legs is planted firmly between Jim’s thighs, the pressure against his groin making Jim hum at the back of his throat. He feels Spock hand gripping the back of his neck, tilting his head up into the kiss and making Jim feel dizzy and close to collapsing. He slips his hands down Spock’s sides until he feels the waistband of his pants. Eagerly, desperately, Jim pulls Spock against him.

Then Spock pulls away for a moment, leaving Jim in a state of delirious shock, his voice a deep rumble as he says, “You utterly confound me, Jim. I was unaware of the extent to which our lack of intimacy has affected you.”

“Yeah, well...” Jim struggles to compose much of a response because his head is still spinning from their kiss.

Spock leans in to press his face into the spot where Jim’s jaw meets his neck, whispering, “It would be unfounded for me to say that I have not also been desirous of intimacy.”

There’s a trembling in Jim’s legs that has nothing to do with his mostly-healed injury. He’s not usually one to let others take him off guard so easily, but Spock is a special exception. Jim wonders how Spock is able to do it so easily, to shatter his walls and tear him open like this. His heart is pounding wildly.

Then Spock pulls away again, stepping back and leaving Jim to steady himself against the wall. Jim is immediately distraught at their parting, but the look in Spock’s eyes makes him pause. There’s a tingling sensation on Jim’s body where Spock’s hands once were.

“I apologize for my aggressiveness,” Spock says, his brows furrowed, “your emotional state was transferred to me quite powerfully during our argument just now. Do you feel this... this ravenous _passion_ very often?”

Spock’s gaze is imploring and slightly in awe, and Jim replies, “Recently? Yeah, I feel this way every time I’m around you. I think I’ve gotten good at hiding it, though.”

They’re interrupted when the doors of the turbolift glide open. Jim has to take a deep breath and brush himself off before following Spock into the hallway. He tries his best to give off the impression to crewmembers passing by that he wasn’t just making out vigorously with his first officer a minute ago.

 _My room?_ Jim asks telepathically.

Spock responds with a simple nod, heading purposefully in the direction of the captain’s quarters. As Jim follows close by his side, he feels the soft touch of Spock’s fingers against his. A heat rises to his cheeks, threatening to crumble his professional composure.

As he pushes the button to open the door of his quarters, Jim feels a nervous flutter in his stomach that’s not unlike what he used to feel in academy whenever he would take someone back to his room with him. But this time feels different, stronger somehow, and it culminates in a storm of nerves and excitement.

Finally alone, they stand in front of one another for a tense moment, saying nothing. Spock’s face and ears are flushed with green, like a forested mountain or a stormy sea. The look on his face is a mix of expressions that Jim can’t quite decipher. 

Spock breaks the silence. “Sharing your emotions is truly... something else,” he steps forward to place a cautious hand on Jim’s chest, “humans feel so much all at once, it’s overwhelming.”

“You’re half human,” Jim reminds him, “don’t you feel some of this, too?”

“Yes, sometimes, but I’ve been trained from birth to regulate such feelings.” His hand is pressed over Jim’s heart, which beats more rapidly at his touch.

Jim covers Spock’s hand with his own. “You should learn to embrace them. The bad feelings can certainly be overwhelming, but the _good_ ones... The good ones can be like _miracles_.”

His dark eyes pierce into him with a determined intensity. “Teach me, Jim. Teach me how to embrace them.”

Jim can’t help the giddy smile that spreads across his face at Spock’s words. It thrills him to think of Spock being able to feel freely, to be released from the confinements of his often oppressive culture. Who might Spock be if he finally lets loose?

Jim pulls Spock’s lips to his, every muscle in his body tensing with anticipation. He grabs fistfulls of Spock’s shirt and tugs it up so he can feel his bare skin under his fingertips. There’s a burning coil of want in the pit of his stomach that begs for more. How had he never noticed before the sensual dip of Spock’s lower back? How had he never noticed the firm muscles of his hips? His hands trail lower until he feels the equally enchanting curve of his ass.

A low growl rumbles at the back of Jim’s throat as Spock picks him up with gleeful ease and lays him down on the bed. Jim is all too eager to wrap his legs around Spock’s midsection, his pelvis jerking up to increase the friction between them. He’s already achingly hard, and is pleased to feel Spock’s stiff length rubbing against him.

“ _God..._ ” Jim gasps, the two of them parting as he helps Spock pull his shirt up over his head. His bare chest is an expanse of sweet porcelain flesh, his abdomen enticingly toned, and Jim has to stop and stare for a moment to appreciate the sight. Jim wants to burn the image in the back of his retina so that he can see it forever. He barely notices Spock blushing furiously out of the corner of his eye. 

Jim lets Spock slip his hands under the hem of his shirt, his palms sliding over his pecs and up his arms. His touch is deliberate and teasingly slow, but Jim can’t deny that there’s something especially hot about having Spock undress him. He shivers as his shirt is tossed onto the floor. Spock’s sexual hunger grows while his eyes rake over Jim’s body, he can sense it through their bond. It’s almost that much more erotic that they can guage exactly how intense the other’s desire is, every minute fluctuation in their emotions. The fires in their hearts feed off each other’s desire as their minds become one.

Suddenly, Spock’s mouth is closing around one of Jim’s nipples, and then he’s seeing stars. Spock massages the other in steady circles with his thumb, making Jim moan. There’s electrical currents of sensitivity coursing through his body, making every part of him buzz with pleasure. 

Jim instinctively latches his fingers into Spock’s hair as he feels a warm tongue flick out to lick his raised nipple. It almost stings because of how sensitive he is. 

He can’t tell whether it’s his idea or Spock’s, but soon Spock is undoing his pants with quick, adept movements. Jim is attempting to tug at Spock’s waistband in a much less graceful manner, but not for lack of trying. He feels like he might die if he doesn’t feel their naked bodies pressed against each other _right fucking now_. 

Fabric slides against skin, the hair on his arms stands on end, his heart skips a beat, and all the while they’re each taking down each other’s walls. Jim might feel exposed except his entire being is already on clear display for Spock to read through their bond. All he wants is for every inch of himself to be in contact with every inch of Spock, a mutual enveloping. Their minds do what their physical selves can’t, swirling and swimming and diving into one other.

Spock’s lips find the pulse point on Jim’s neck and sucks lightly, practically drawing out his lifeforce in the most delightful way possible. But it isn’t quite enough, and Jim grits his teeth, begging Spock to _bite_.

Spock pulls away, the exact opposite of what Jim wants so badly, and says, “I do not wish to hurt you, Jim...”

“You won’t,” he replies easily, knowing it’s true, “please, I want this.”

Spock’s brows furrow in the center of his forehead, his expression betraying his hesitation.

“Give into your desires, Spock,” Jim whispers, trying to calm him with his thoughts, “there’s nothing for you to be scared of.”

Jim would be lying if he said he doesn’t still think about the way Spock looked when Jim had seen him appear on the Borg ship, his fists a blur as he tore into drones, his eyes clouded over with some primal fog. It’s a tantalizing fantasy for him to imagine Spock without his usual composed demeanor, overcome with passion and lavishing him with rough attention. He’s always enjoyed a little tooth and nail in the bedroom.

This fantasy still peripherally present at the back of Jim’s mind, he looks into Spock’s mind and seeks out that ferocious side of him. Maybe he can help Spock draw it out of himself, and help him become more comfortable with indulging it. 

Spock relaxes somewhat as he says, “I trust you will alert me if you are experiencing more than you’re able to handle.”

Jim smiles, “Of course, although there’s not much I can’t handle.”

Spock’s touch takes on a slightly different manner as they grip his wrists with surprising strength, pinning his arms above his head. Jim has to resist giggling, partly out of pleasant surprise and partly out of disbelief that he’s actually witnessing this side of Spock emerging.

Before Jim can so much as catch his breath, Spock’s tongue is tracing a slick, seductive line down his body. His chin stops tantalizingly close to the throbbing head of Jim’s stiff erection. Spock meets his eyes from where he hovers over Jim’s pelvis, his pink mouth hanging open just slightly. The sight of it makes Jim’s cock jump and an uncontrollable whimpering sound escapes his throat. He starts to feel embarrassed until he feels a wave of lust from Spock.

“Please...” he begs, his voice coming out a bit shaky. He knows he doesn’t need to ask for it verbally, Spock can probably sense how his mind is screaming for it, but he says it anyway. 

Without an ounce of hesitation, Spock’s lips close around the top of him, one of his hands wrapping around the base of his shaft. Spock emits a satisfied hum that vibrates through Jim’s body and makes him tremble. Of course he knows exactly where to apply pressure with his tongue, finding all the spots that light Jim’s groin on fire with pleasure. 

Jim tries to focus on the way Spock’s face is scrunched up so beautifully with concentration to keep his orgasm at bay. It’s been quite a while since he’s seen some action, and it’s been much longer since he’s been with someone so utterly gifted with his hands and mouth. It wouldn’t surprise him if he learned that Spock had done some extensive research on human anatomy at some point. It also infuriates him that Spock has to be so damn good at everything he does.

It’s hard for him to maintain his train of thought as Spock starts bobbing his head up and down at a faster pace, his hand still stroking the lower half of him with tormenting earnestness. Jim clamps a hand down on the headboard above his head, grounding himself. His other hand is pressed palm to palm with Spock’s, their fingertips grazing each other in chaste Vulcan kisses.

“Oh _god_ ,” Jim grunts helplessly. He has to resist the urge to wrap his legs around Spock’s muscular frame, his toes curling up in the sheets. 

Spock continues to envelop Jim with his tongue, applying pressure just below the head of his cock until Jim can feel himself leaking. In a brief moment of clarity, Jim hopes he tastes okay.

“You taste _truly amazing_ ,” Spock replies promptly, barely lifting his lips from Jim for a second. Jim feels his face grow hot, still not entirely used to having his mind read, but Spock’s praise entirely makes up for the shock. 

Jim feels himself edging ever closer to the precipice, the tension in his muscles building rapidly. How is he supposed to stop it when Spock’s mouth is so hot and wet? When his fingers are calloused but oh so gentle as they knead into him? 

Suddenly, Spock’s hand travels lower to press several exploratory fingers against Jim’s taint, causing Jim to arch up into his touch with a moan. Meanwhile, Spock swallows him whole, Jim’s entire length engulfed by the soft heat of Spock’s throat. 

“ _Fucking hell!_ ” Jim cries, his voice a pitch higher than normal. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to last much longer, and he’d really been hoping to do more than this.

Just as Jim thinks he’s about to reach his limit, Spock pulls away, Jim’s cock breaking free with a lewd _pop_ . Having Spock be able to sense how close he is is equally a blessing and a terrible curse. He could probably edge Jim for _hours_ if he wanted to.

Spock reaches into Jim’s bedside drawer and pulls out a bottle of lube. Jim is about to ask how he knew that it was there but decides that he’d rather not know the answer to that. The only thing running through his head right now is the insatiable need for Spock to be _inside_ him.

He also takes a moment to appreciate Spock’s glorious physique, strong and flushed all over. Jim tries not to stare too much at his remarkably hard cock, the front of it lined with several pronounced ridges that Jim already knows will feel amazing. He’s exactly as powerful and arousing as Jim had hoped.

With captivating precision, Spock slicks several of his fingers, holding eye contact with Jim the entire time. The hunger in his gaze pins Jim in place, afraid to move but wanting so so badly to pull Spock close. It’s exhilarating.

And then Spock’s naked body is looming over him, reaching down to test the tightness of Jim’s hole. The gasp that was about to leave his mouth is muffled by a ravenous kiss. He tastes himself on Spock’s tongue, which he finds incredibly fucking hot. Jim pushes against him, wanting so much more.

“Fuck me with your fingers.” he commands impatiently.

Spock obliges readily, and Jim feels himself stretching as he’s penetrated. Spock curls his fingers in the most insanely stimulating way possible, immediately discovering Jim’s weakest point. He groans. 

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Spock asks, already knowing the answer.

Jim responds eagerly, “ _Holy shit, yes!_ ”

Spock smiles at his enthusiasm, entirely too pleased with himself.

They stay like that for a while, lips locked, Spock’s fingers buried deep inside of him. Jim’s hands roam over the wide expanse of Spock’s back seeking as much skin on skin contact as he can possibly get. He can feel the sheets underneath him growing damp with sweat.

Gradually, Jim realizes that it’s not enough, he wants to be _filled_. He tries to convey this desire by moaning and tugging desperately at Spock’s hips. It seems to do the trick because he feels himself become overwhelmingly empty.

Jim searches through their bond, relaying his incessant ache to be fucked as well as seeking out Spock’s equally strong ache to fuck him. Their desires combine into an amorous frenzy in their minds, both of their hearts racing in anticipation. It’s frighteningly intoxicating to have their thoughts all mixed up together. 

He spreads his legs greedily and Spock lines himself up, still looking Jim straight in the eye. They hold eye contact as Spock sinks into him slowly, inch by inch, and the way he’s looking at Jim is almost pornographic. His gaze is possessive but slightly unfocused with pleasure. 

Spock practically growls as he bottoms out, their thighs pressed tightly together. Feeling Spock’s cock inside of him makes Jim want to scream or cry or both, and it’s the best thing he’s ever experienced. Just as he’d expected, the ridges along Spock’s length rub him in all the right ways.

Jim closes his eyes and throws his head back with a sigh, relaxing his muscles as best he can. He could definitely get used to the way Spock stretches him so well. He didn’t know how badly he needed this until now.

But then Spock starts moving, and Jim is absolutely losing his mind. His breathing is labored and his knuckles are white as he grips Spock’s shoulders. He pumps into Jim in a steady rhythm, matching every other beat of his heart. 

“Fuck...” Spock murmurs, deep and sensual.

Jim almost laughs at the uncharacteristic cursing, but it does more to turn him on than make him laugh. He can’t quite comprehend that he’s able to make Spock feel this way. It’s unbelievable how he’s watching Spock’s carefully constructed facade crumble in front of him right now. He wants to watch him come undone like this every day for the rest of their lives.

“ _Harder_ ,” Jim insists, tightening his grip.

Spock’s breath hitches. Then, he drives in deeper and increases his pace, leaning down so that their noses brush against one another. The space between them is burning and intimate, just the two of them.

Jim tries to meet Spock’s thrusts, bucking his hips up. Dull pain has been spreading from the mostly healed wound on his upper thigh, but it’s a beautiful ache. Everything that Spock makes him feel just brings him closer to his climax.

His head swimming, Jim pulls him in closer so that Spock’s face is buried in the crook of his neck. He breathes heavily into Spock’s ear, lips barely kissing those sleek pointed tips, and strains to force their bodies into one. He lets out a mewling whine when he feels Spock’s teeth press into his skin.

 _Mine, all mine..._ Jim hears Spock’s voice in his mind. It’s primal and hungry, and Jim is ever so willing to let himself be claimed. 

They’re reaching that sweet peak, and it’s like a feverish pressure building simultaneously in both of them. It’s an uncontrollable tidal wave that Jim can’t wait to be drowning in. 

Spock pulls back so that they’re meeting one other’s gaze again. It’s more than eye contact, they’re seeing the very core of each other’s beings. Spock’s eyes are glazed over with yearning and Jim gets lost in their dark intensity. He couldn’t look away even if he tried.

A quickening of Spock’s pace, followed by a sharp intake of breath, and then white hot pleasure is flooding them both. They’re both shuddering, rocking into each other as they ride it out together. Maybe it lasts seconds, or minutes, or an eternity, he can’t tell. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before.

Jim can barely hear anything over the incessant pounding of his heart, but he can still hear the shakiness in Spock’s every inhale. Their eyes are still locked, and Jim watches the furrow of Spock’s brows gradually soften. He ignores the fact that his abdomen is warm and slick.

Eventually, Jim feels Spock’s weight sink into him as they bask in the afterglow, pure bliss. It feels like the room is filled with a hazy fog, and he takes in lungfuls of Spock’s heady scent. He could stay like this forever.

Time passes, their fingers lazily intertwined as they come back to their senses. Jim is mesmerized by the way Spock’s long eyelashes graze his perfectly flushed cheeks when Spock finally breaks the silence.

“It is my deepest regret to remind you that our crew is still awaiting our orders on the bridge.” 

Son of a bitch.

Spock’s thumb traces the curve of his jaw with the pad of his thumb, and Jim scrunches his eyes up tight. Of course Spock would be thinking about his duties right now. Of course Spock is absolutely right, but Jim wishes to god that he wasn’t.

“I think we could at least shower first.” Jim sighs, glances down at himself.

“Fair enough,” Spock sits up, pulling out and leaving Jim painfully empty. 

Groaning and stretching himself out on the bed, Jim enjoys the sweet soreness that permeates his limbs. He watches Spock’s naked figure walk towards the ensuite, staring shamelessly at his immaculately sculpted ass.

Turning back just as he reaches the doorway, Spock raises an eyebrow. “Would you care to join me?”

Jim grins wickedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a very short epilogue chapter planned, so stay tuned for that. i know it's been over two months since my last update whoops i hope this was worth the wait! i love you all, thanks for reading!


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year everyone! i have a feeling that this year is going to be better :)

Jim shifts position in bed for the tenth time that night, a buzz of energy permeating his body that prevents him from sleeping. 

He’s restless, his mind racing with random thoughts of the Enterprise’s recent activities. In the past several weeks, they’ve dealt with a particularly nasty group of black market space traders, a diplomatic dispute between a couple of neighboring planets, and a series of inconvenient malfunctions with the Enterprise’s electricity. They managed to resolve the first two without much issue, but every once in a while the lights throughout the ship will flicker ominously.

Spock, as usual, is staring intently at his datapad beside him, probably doing some research on a topic beyond Jim’s comprehension. His face is illuminated with a soft blue light that makes his skin glow in the dark. Jim gave up on trying to sleep and decided to watch the glittering reflection of the screen in Spock’s eyes instead. The face he makes during deep concentration is endlessly enchanting.

“Are you having difficulty sleeping, Jim?” Spock asks, not looking away from his datapad.

Jim sighs, “Yeah, a little.”

“Would you like me to acquire some medication for you? I believe I saw some melatonin capsules in the medicine cabinet.”

“No,” Jim rolls over onto his back to look up at the ceiling, “thanks, though.”

There’s a beat of silence before Spock asks another question, “Would you like to see what I’m currently working on?”

He turns quickly to meet Spock’s curious gaze, excited by the idea that he would want to share things with Jim. For the most part, Jim tries not to distract Spock while he’s working and figures that he’d rather be left alone, but he has to admit that he’s interested in anything that could make Spock’s brows pinch together in such intense focus.

He sits up as Spock tilts his screen for him to see. It displays a series of complicated graphs and charts that Jim can’t even begin to decipher, and he gets momentarily lost in all of the senseless numbers.

“I’ve been analyzing data collected on the Enterprise over the past 80 days in order to identify more efficient methods of energy and resource use.” Spock scrolls past a diagram depicting water usage over time in different sections of the ship.

Jim scoffs, “I’ll never understand why you do this kind of shit for fun.”

Spock raises an eyebrow but otherwise ignores his comment, continuing, “There seems to be a pattern of activity over the course of the day that indicates we’ve been spending too much energy on temperature control in the mess hall at night. I plan on discussing this with the engineering crew within the next several days. Perhaps there’s a way to trigger heating and air conditioning only when a room is occupied.”

Propping his chin up on his hand, Jim leans into Spock’s shoulder slightly. “You’re one to talk about wasting energy on temperature control.”

“I regret that Vulcan biologies tend to function better at slightly higher temperatures than humans. I can certainly adjust to a lower temperature if you’d like.”

“I’m kidding, Spock, of course I don’t mind,” Jim rests his other hand gently on Spock’s thigh. “All of this stuff is actually pretty impressive, though. I’ve never considered collecting data on the ship’s daily operations.”

“It’s quite intriguing, actually.” Spock replies, his attention turning back to the screen for a moment.

Jim merely hums in agreement, mesmerized by the endless diagrams and numbers that flash across the datapad, not really taking any of it in. He hopes that maybe if he scoots a little closure to Spock’s body, which radiates a calming warmth, then he’ll finally start to feel the pull of sleep behind his eyes.

After a few minutes, Jim realizes that his attempts are hopeless and resigns himself to staring at Spock’s screen for the remainder of the night. His bondmate, however, seems to sense his distress.

“Would you like to see something else I was working on some time ago?” He looks down at Jim, mildly hesitant but still somehow nonchalant.

“Yes!” Jim responds immediately. God, he loves it when Spock shares things with him.

Spock closes out of the document with all of the Enterprise’s statistics and opens up a programming application. He clicks on a file that Jim only briefly sees the name of, the characters looking distinctly Vulcan, so he can only guess what it is.

Jim studies Spock’s face as he scrolls through the code, his expression blank but something like fondness stirring inside him according to their bond. Only Spock could feel a connection towards code, the absolute nerd. Jim suddenly feels so incredibly special to be privy to Spock’s inner workings, and waits in quiet contentment for Spock to explain.

“I designed this for the memorial on Starbase Yorktown,” he says, his finger hovering over the ‘Run Program’ button, “I had hoped I could show it to you before we left, but our circumstances at the time were... complicated.”

Jim scoffs at the understatement. He can feel the small twinge of regret in Spock, though, so he quickly replies, “We’ll be back someday, and then you can show me. I would love that.”

Spock nods, continuing, “I downloaded the program to my datapad before our mission. I’m not sure what compelled me to do so, it serves no practical purpose.”

“Not everything has to serve a practical purpose, Spock. For all you know it serves a purpose that you just don’t understand yet.” 

He’s quiet for several seconds, contemplative.

“Show me.” Jim urges.

Spock runs the program, and suddenly a series of words are projected into the air above the screen. In a bright green that casts the room in a swampy glow, below a string of ornate Vulcan symbols, Jim reads “May the legacy of those lost live long and prosper.” The outline of a hand forming the  _ ta’al _ appears on the datapad.

As Spock presses his hand to the screen, he explains, “The program takes one’s genetic information and compares it to the database containing all of those who perished during the destruction of Vulcan.”

The words are suddenly replaced with a woman’s face, and Jim is left dumbfounded. The woman is  _ Spock’s mother _ . He’d only seen her from articles and a few old pictures of the Vulcan Council. He knows he’d been close to meeting her at one point, before the transporter lost her signal and she was sucked into the swirling black mouth that devoured Spock’s home planet. The breath in his lungs feels as though it’s just been sucked into the same black mouth.

The hologram of her is strangely familiar and oddly life-like. He can instantly detect the similarities to Spock in her features, the distinct curve of her chin, the soft slope of her eyelids, even the gentle earnestness in her gaze. He wishes he could’ve gotten to know her, to know the person who helped to make such a distinctly unique being.

Several feelings strike Jim all at once as he looks into Amanda Grayson’s face: understanding and also sadness at Spock’s comment about the program’s practicality, because something so deeply personal should never be reduced to an object of utility, a deep ache of sympathy for his loss, and the tumultuous whirlwind of Spock’s current thought process currently leaking through their psychic connection. 

Studying his expression out of the corner of his eye, Jim can tell how hard he’s trying to rationalize the senseless emotion that is grief. He himself struggles with it, so he’s certainly not one to judge, but he knows for certain that’s a purely illogical thing. Now isn’t the time to discuss that, though.

“She’s beautiful,” he says just under his breath, entirely in awe.

Spock tilts his head slightly, as if he’s considering it for the first time, “Indeed.”

“Thank you for sharing this with me, Spock.”

Spock’s cheeks turn a shade greener and he seems at a loss for words. He probably doesn’t understand why Jim would thank him for what seems like an ordinary gesture, but hopefully he senses that it means the world to him. Not only that, but Jim is genuinely impressed with the program Spock made, with its thousands of lines of code. His chest swells with pride and gratitude that someone so utterly amazing would choose  _ him _ of all people.

For just a moment, he feels Spock’s mind reaching out to him, and suddenly feels his own emotions reflected back at him. Jim looks into those deep, dark eyes and is reminded of the infinite abyss of space. He wants to get lost in them.

“ _ I adore you, Jim. _ ” Spock says, simultaneously spoken aloud and mentally. 

His words envelop Jim in a blanket of affection that threatens to force tears from his eyes. He breathes it in and lets it settle deep in his chest until it fills every empty space inside him. 

Almost in a trance, Jim reaches up and traces a line along the curve of Spock’s jaw with a gentle finger. Beyond all reason, his entire being is compelled to touch and be touched, but only by him. 

He couldn’t look away from Spock’s electrifying stare even if he tried, and in that moment the nervous energy that once kept him awake is replaced with the warm feeling that Spock continues pouring into him. With a sigh, he sinks ever so slightly into the mattress.

Without a doubt, perhaps for the first time that Jim can remember, he is happy.

<><><>

_ THE END _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want to take a moment to thank everyone who's been consistently reading and commenting on my fic since the beginning. i can't stress enough how much i appreciate it and how much inspiration you brought me <3
> 
> stay safe everyone and long live Spirk! :)
> 
> Edit: if you want to read more, I just started a new fic called "An Issue of Intragalactic Diplomacy" so go check it out <3


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